


The Truth

by disgustiphage



Series: Foundation [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Gen, Humor, M/M, Post-Canon, Secret Organizations, off-brand SCP Foundation, oops no beta, this is still silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-01-21 13:55:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disgustiphage/pseuds/disgustiphage
Summary: A secret organization tasked with capturing and containing supernatural entities has discovered Aziraphale and Crowley. After an initial escape, the two of them have decided that the best course of action is to infiltrate.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Foundation [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535567
Comments: 17
Kudos: 94





	1. this is a really good idea, probably

**Author's Note:**

> this is a sequel, so i recommend reading the first one in the series uh... first!

Within a little roadside cafe, a demon and an angel sat huddled together, side-by-side. Crowley had barely touched his slice of cake, which was fine, as Aziraphale was happy to help him chip away at it. The two of them had been traveling recently, getting some fresh air, stargazing where light pollution couldn’t ruin the view, stretching their wings in the moonlight.

There was no consensus on when they would return home. No hurry, either, especially since a certain secret human organization had caught on to what the two of them were, and where they lived. The “SPF Foundation” had captured Crowley once before. It was not that he wasn’t on guard, just not on guard against _ humans. _They had been planning to take Aziraphale as well, if they could formulate a plan on how to capture an angel. Supposedly, it was not something they were currently equipped for. Funny, since capturing Aziraphale had never apparently been a problem for humans before. Crowley figured that all they needed to do, really, was forget that they knew he was an angel and just go for it.1

[1 At which point, they would have no reason to go after him, but whatever.] 

It was fortunate that this had only happened _ after _ they had managed to trick Heaven and Hell into leaving them alone, although whether or not that would last, and for how long, was still up in the air. Last thing they needed was an attack from _ three _sides-- one of which they had been defending! Sort of.

It was the thought that counted.

“Been thinking,” Crowley said as he watched Aziraphale steal another piece off his plate.

“Yes?” he said, before taking a bite. “Oh- no, don’t tell me. You’re going to try to convince me to-”

“Saw an ad,” Crowley said. “_ Help wanted _.”

“For what, exactly? Help… being contained and experimented on? I think _ not _,” Aziraphale said.

“No, not for that. Who would go in to be interviewed for that? _ Research assistants _, angel.” 

“If they capture you again, my dearest, I shan’t be coming to your rescue. Again.”

“You would.”

“Oh? Then feel free to try me,” Aziraphale said with a smug little smile. Crowley smiled back, and the smugness faded. “I mean it, Crowley. We’re attempting to _ avoid _ the Foundation humans, not run _ towards _them, arms wide open.”

“I have a plan,” Crowley said. “You didn’t let me finish before. S’ a good plan. I think.”

“You _ think _?” Aziraphale sighed. “Crowley….”

“I _ did _think.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Just listen,” Crowley said, leaning inward. “We get in. We go in disguise-”

“I believe many of them lived _ on-site _. I saw dorms last time. Disguises are a good bit of fun but-”

“Glamoured, then. Whatever. We get in. Figure out just how they operate. And we destroy any photos or files or whatever they got on us two.” Crowley playfully attempted to pin Aziraphale’s fork with his own as he went for another piece of his cake, but was swiftly parried. Crowley’s fork flew off and landed in some other customer’s drink with a _ splash _and a shocked cry, much to the demon’s amused delight. Aziraphale quickly put both of his hands on his lap and looked away.

“And,” Crowley said, “and we make sure that they don’t bother us again.”

“You tried that before,” Aziraphale said, recalling not-so-fondly how Crowley had released all security measures of the SPF building he had been held captive in-- a parting gift. He at least made it so that, miraculously, it would all work out for the staff there.

It had, in hindsight, the very predictable side effect of making the two of them _ even more _ of a target. The whole idea of the Foundation was securing threats, after all. And that was a _ fairly _threatening action. Aziraphale reminded Crowley of this.

“We can try it again. Just ‘cuz something completely blows up in your face the first time doesn’t mean you can’t try again.”

“_ Technically _ , no. But, _ practically _ speaking-”

“-We can try again, _ better _. Angel. Angel....”

“Crowley….” Aziraphale took in a deep sigh. Crowley tilted his head down, revealing his serpent’s eyes to Aziraphale. _ Hopeful _ serpent’s eyes. Aziraphale looked down. “I did wonder-- now, this is _ not _ me agreeing to participate in your _ shenanigans-- _I wonder if the Foundation tried capturing the humans as well? Adam and the young lady you ran down-”

“That was a self-defence running-down.”

“...Excuse me?”

“Wait. You’re talking about book girl, aren’t you? Nevermind that.”

“Who did you-- when-- self-defence? Crowley??”

“She got better!” Crowley said. “_ Nevermind _that. You were saying?”

Aziraphale stared for a moment before finally composing himself.

“...as I was saying,” he said in tones that indicated that they might Discuss This Later. “I happened to grow particularly fond of Madame Tracy. I do hope she and the other humans are alright?”

“There’s one way to find out,” Crowley said, arching an eyebrow. Aziraphale copied the action.

“...Telephone them?”

Crowley paused. “There’s... two ways to find out. But my way’s better.”

Aziraphale let out a short laugh. “There’s no convincing you to drop this, is there?”

“Nah. Not a chance.”

Aziraphale did end up calling the humans that did most (well, all) of the work during the apocalypse, and was relieved to find that they had been interviewed, perhaps overly thoroughly, but _ not _detained. They were perfectly normal humans, after all. That was their salvation.

At least, they thought Adam was a perfectly normal human, now. _ Maybe _.

Foundation Site 32 could not be located on any official map, nor could its location be found anywhere online. Aziraphale, Crowley, and a small handful of other applicants had been directed to put together a quick resume, then meet in an unrelated location. After _ miraculously _passing a background check, they were to be transported to the site in the back of a spacious, windowless van. Though, of course, the angel and demon could (and did) easily cheat. The driver gave up no details during the ride, no matter how the other applicants asked. The wording on the ad was fairly vague, but these people seemed desperate enough not to duck and roll right on out when it became clear that they’d be left in the dark about this “research”.

“I feel like we should tell them,” Aziraphale said in a voice that only Crowley could hear.

“Nah.”

“We really should.”

“Alrighty then. Explain,” Crowley said, leaning back in his seat. “Go ahead. Explain everything. This ought to be good.”

“Oh, er,”

“Yes?”

“...Nevermind.”

They were all forced to wear blindfolds before exiting the vehicle, and they were not to be removed until everyone was safely within the lobby of Site 32. 

The building was grey-walled, clean, minimalistic. Staff in white coats could be seen roaming about or standing around, holding up clipboards and attempting to look occupied with them.

One researcher emerged from the front office and introduced themselves to the group. They had that look on their face that screamed _ I don’t have anything better to do right now, who told my boss that I had nothing more important going on? Fine! Fine! I guess I’ll do this thing I really don’t want to do! Fine! Guh! _

“Right, hi, Dr. Stump here. I suppose I’ll be taking you lot on a quick tour. Stay close, don’t touch anything, _ especially _don’t touch me, and shut up!”

The group fell silent. Well, except Crowley’s whispered, “Ooh, tetchy much?” to Aziraphale, who covered his mouth and nodded. The others in the group murmured agreement. This earned Crowley an irritated glare from Stump. Crowley only shrugged at that.

“C’mon,” Stump said, gesturing towards a big set of double doors. “Cafeteria. Gonna need a bucketload of coffee for this.”

One the way, Stump gave a barely-rehearsed speil on the duties of the job. The highlights: it was to last a month, they would live on-site during this time, would not be deliberately put into overtly dangerous situations, and that there was opportunity for advancement should they desire it. Especially so for those with resumes like Crowley’s, who boasted several doctorates2, and Aziraphale who claimed to know hundreds of languages. At the end of the month, they would be paid generously. But, that and the other little human details were of no real concern to the two of them. 

[2 His goal was obtaining higher education in order to provide for further opportunities to be Annoying as Hell.]

Stump directed the group through the cafeteria doors. The room appeared about as plain as the rest of the building.

“Bit dreadful, isn’t it?” Aziraphale sighed. “This is really our only option?”

Stump waved a finger. “Listen, if you wanted a cheap fine dining experience, maybe you should’ve looked for work with the Fine Dining Foundation.”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up at the idea. “Fine Dining Foundation… ?”

“I was being sarcastic. No such thing.”

“Oh.”

Crowley said, “There could be. ‘S just secret and no one knows about it.” He grinned, and Aziraphale smiled at him. Stump gestured, pointing two fingers towards their own glowering eyes, then directly at Crowley. They mouthed something like _ you _and turned around. Stump guided them to a tall, blue, rectangular machine near the entrance. Its only embellishment was a microphone and tall door flap at the bottom. Dr. Stump stood near the mic and said, “The usual.”

There was a _ clunk _, and Stump cautiously lifted the door flap and pulled up a plain orange bucket by its wire handle. It was covered securely with a lid, which was fortunate as it sounded as if it contained liquid. They hefted it up onto the nearby counter and peeled it open, steam immediately wafting out. They gripped it with both hands, steadied themselves, and took a big, slow sip from their bucketload of coffee.

No one said anything. Stump put the heavy bucket back on the counter, a little bit of coffee splashing up from the impact. 

Stump wiped their face with a sleeve and said, “This is Chef.” Stump leaned against the machine. “Tell Chef whatever it is you want to eat,” Stump indicated the microphone, “and it’ll come out that door right there. There’s a recipe booklet attached to the side here if you can’t think of anything.” Aziraphale raised his hand. Stump continued, “but whatever it is, it’s going to be served to you in one of these plastic buckets. No, you can’t pick the colour. It’s orange. It’s always orange.”

“The _ colour _ of the _ bucket _was not my concern,” Aziraphale said. “Is that even remotely sanitary?”

“Just think of the paint and concrete chips like special seasoning,” Stump said. “Fine, whatever. If you’re going to be picky about it, get food-food from the human cooks here. You’re not the only one around here who can’t handle the bucket life,” Stump said. “It’s not going to be that much more glamorous, though.”

Crowley cocked his head. Both he and his companion knew that there were no other people, no other facilities remotely close to Site 32. So, he had to ask, “Where do the human cooks get their ingredients?”

“Crowley-”

Stump chortled ruefully and gently slapped the side of the machine. Aziraphale glowered at his demon. “I really would have preferred _ not _knowing that, thank you very much.” 

Crowley put an arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “I think the _ seasoning _might’ve tipped you off, at some point.”

Aziraphale had to concede to that. 

It was not obvious to the humans that had accompanied them to Site 32, but Crowley and Aziraphale could certainly detect anomalous energies emanating from “Chef”. Nothing hostile, just… odd. To anyone else not in the know, it was just a novelty high-tech bucket-based vending machine.

“Alright, anyway, you’re all probably hungry and tired so,” Stump shrugged, “Catch you in about an hour. I’ll be in my office. Don’t bother me unless someone’s on fire again.” Stump lifted their bucket and began towards the doors clearly marked ‘restroom’. “Not that people are regularly set on fire around here. That was a joke. Yeah… joke.”

As the others of the group started to, perhaps reluctantly, gather around the machine, Stump abruptly turned. 

“One thing. No,” Stump lowered their voice to an audible whisper, “‘_ Q _ words. We do not ask for any item beginning with that letter. You will not find any in the recipe book. For safety, we don’t say _ anything _that begins with that letter in front of Chef. No, no one will tell you what the word is. We don’t trust you. Anyone who-”

“Quiche?”

“Crowley!”

_ Clunk _.

“_ Anyone who- _”

“Queso?”

_ Clunk. _The bucket of quiche was pushed out the door and partially spilled out from its jostled lid.

“Stop guessing _ Q _ words into the mic!” Stump said, nearly dropping their bucket. “Anyone caught doing this is subject to disciplinary actions, up to and including _ termination _. I am serious. Got it?” Stump waited for a response and got only confused stares. They repeated themselves, louder. 

“Got it…. “

“Right, yeah, got it.”

“Yes, got it!”

Stump nodded and, satisfied, retreated to their office. Crowley leaned down. “Quail eggs.”

_ Clunk _. Now the floor was also partially covered in melty cheese. Everyone backed up.

Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “That’s quite enough, I think.”

Someone said, “Yeah, we don’t want it, uh… what did the doctor say it would do if you said the wrong word?”

”Fine,” Crowley said. “But I don’t see the big deal is. Why would they tell us not to do something and then immediately leave us all unsupervised, anyway?” Perhaps he didn’t have to anymore, but tempting humans to do what they weren’t supposed to do was still amusing.

There was some mumbling and a collective shrug. The humans in the group began flipping through the book and testing out the machine, after moving the other buckets out of the way. Crowley and Aziraphale stood off to the side, leaving them all be.

“I suppose I don’t _ need _to eat,” Aziraphale huffed quietly to Crowley, who gave him a sympathetic frown. “Too bad I didn’t think to pack a lunch.” A small stack of books appeared in Aziraphale’s hands. “Just these.”

“Books are made from trees. So technically, those are vegetables.”

“_ No _ , dear. Books are _ not _for eating. We’ve been over this before.”

“Just think of them like a really dry… square… dusty cucumber.”

Aziraphale put the books away, into the ethereal pocket dimension he kept for those objects that could not be miracled from the firmament so easily nor accurately. Food, unfortunately, fell under this category. _ Decent _food, at any rate.

“Cucumbers are a _ fruit _, Crowley.”

“They aren’t.”

“You know you can’t possibly win in an argument against me when the subject is _ cuisine _.”

“Then why do they get put on salads?”

“They don’t go on _ my _salads,” Aziraphale said.

“Dunno what the appeal of salad is, anyway,” Crowley shrugged. “Cucumbers or no.”

“Well, you might like it better if you had one the proper way,” Aziraphale said, touching Crowley’s arm. “I don’t believe salads are meant to be swallowed whole.”

Crowley was leaning to the side of Aziraphale with a squint behind his sunglasses. Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow and slowly looked behind him, at whatever it was that Crowley was staring at.

**AH. HELLO.**

Crowley, followed by a nervous Aziraphale, strolled towards the skeleton sitting at the little round table. He was drinking tea from a little cup that he must have filled from the bucket beside his chair. No one else seemed to pay the tall skeleton any mind.

“Was hoping we’d never have to see _ you _again,” Crowley said.

“Now, now, Crowley. He was merely doing his job,” Aziraphale said with an uneasy smile. “I think,” he added under his breath.

Death said, in his frightfully deep voice that resonated within one’s bones,** I AM NOT HERE FOR EITHER OF YOU. NOT AT THE MOMENT. **

“At the moment?” Crowley said, unable to hide the alarm in his voice. “Nah. No. Nope.”

Death sipped his tea, successfully, despite the lack of organs with which to contain it.

**EVERYTHING THAT LIVES, MUST EVENTUALLY DIE. IT IS THE WAY OF THINGS.**

“Not us,” Crowley insisted. Aziraphale frowned slightly at that, as if it _ wasn’t _Crowley’s idea to infiltrate a dangerous organization despite such an assertion. Well. He did like his confidence, at least. Or appearance of confidence.

**YOU BOTH HAVE DIED MANY TIMES.** Death said. He would cock an eyebrow, if he had any.** I SHOULD KNOW.**

“Yeah, well, we’re done with that,” Crowley shrugged. He glanced over at Aziraphale. “Dunno if they’d let us come back, next time.”

“That’s true,” Aziraphale said, looking down at the floor. Crowley touched his shoulder.

“S’why we gotta make sure, right?” Crowley said. “Make sure they leave us be, for good.” He looked at Death. “And you.”

**I WISH YOU GOOD LUCK, THEN,** Death said. **I MEAN THAT.**

Aziraphale said, “No hard feelings, then? For what we’ve done?”

**WHAT EXACTLY WAS IT THAT YOU’VE DONE?**

Aziraphale and Crowley glanced at each other.

“Well, we- er,”

“We did- no… “

“There was-- er, wait….”

“We….”

“Uh.”

**RIGHT. NO HARD FEELINGS. NOT THAT I HAVE ANY FEELINGS. NO GLANDS FOR PRODUCING THINGS LIKE FEELINGS,** Death said, sadly. He stood.** NOW, EXCUSE ME. I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT TO KEEP. BY THE WAY, I ADVISE CAUTION WHEN ORDERING ANY KIND OF TEA. I BELIEVE ‘CHEF’ MUST HAVE MISTOOK MY REQUEST FOR HORSE PISS.** With that, Death backed up and faded into the background, until he could no longer be seen nor sensed by anyone.

Crowley murmured, “He finished the cup, though.”

Once Dr. Stump returned, they continued their tour. It was fairly brief, and not once did Stump mention what it was they were actually researching here, other than “science”. The humans would figure it out when the time came, they supposed. 

Stump stopped by an old painting depicting the original founder of the SPF, known to staff as the legendary supernatural-creature-puncher. Not that they do that, anymore. Officially.

Someone asked if that’s how she died.

“No, actually. She died resting in bed-”

“Oh.”

“-eating nachos.”

“_ Oh _.”

“Choked on a too-big chunk of pineapple. So, we have a memorial Party Fruit Nachos party every year.” Stump sighed. “That’s the way I want to go out. In bed… eating nachos.”

The tour ended in the hall of dorm rooms meant for the guests and hired help. Aziraphale and Crowley were roomed with two others from the group. It was a roomy space with enough beds for each person, but neither demon nor angel were happy about the arrangements. 

They were left to rest for a time, unpack their things, get settled. Someone would come by later.

And when that time came, the staffer was shocked at the state of the room.

“Hey… “ said the staffer, “what happened to your roomates? And why’s there only one bed?” He scrunched his face. “Is this even one of our rooms?”

Aziraphale, sitting at a messy desk by the wall, looked up from his book. “Why, I have no idea what it is you’re talking about,” he said, poorly feigning innocence. 

“What? No, seriously, what’s going on in here?”

From the bed, the reclining Crowley tilted his head slightly and said evenly, “Don’t worry about it.”

Aziraphale cocked an eyebrow at the man in the doorway. Crowley held an intense gaze, despite the sunglasses. The man hesitated, then backed away slowly. He did not return.

Crowley returned to the booklet he had been reading. Aziraphale stood and sat at the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t realize you were reading a book,” Aziraphale said. Usually, if Aziraphale caught Crowley reading anything, he was doing so on his phone. Crowley sat up and handed it over.

“Yoinked it from one of the researchers we passed by,” he said. “Remember the documents on the clipboard I stole before? It’s basically that for Site… whichever one we’re at now. 32. In book form.”

“O-ohh,” Aziraphale said, flipping through it. “I see.”

“You ought to read it,” Crowley said. “I’m basically caught up, m’self.”

“Must I?”

“You... _ don’t _want to read it?”

“As much as I love books,” Aziraphale said, “you must know that there are those that I love significantly _ less _ than others. I do remember scanning those documents from before. These files are just so very… so very _ dry _ ? And they _ never _ end well. It’d be one thing if it was _ fiction _, but...” Aziraphale shuddered.

“They’re not all bad. Just… “ Crowley gestured vaguely, “mostly. Mostly bad. Mostly awful. Sometimes funny or just sort of weird. Mostly horrific, though. Pretty sure I’m going to have a few nightmares later.” He took the booklet from Aziraphale. “Actually, yeah, nevermind. Don’t read this.” He flipped through a few pages. “Maybe just a couple of the funny ones.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly at him. “As long as one of us knows what’s going on, I think we should be alright.”

Crowley stared quietly for a moment, captivated by that smile. Then, he remembered he could do more than simply stare and leaned in for a kiss-- a pleasant surprise that Aziraphale leaned into eagerly.

Once parted, Crowley said, “If... if we don’t get separated, anyway.”

“Hmm?”

“We’ll be alright if we don’t-”

“Oh, right, yes.”

“You didn’t bring a mobile, did you?”

“...no?” Aziraphale said. “Only a handful of books, just as I showed you. You know I don’t like talking on those mobile telephones. Why would you ask?”

“You use that flip phone I got you,” Crowley said.

“Ah, that,” Aziraphale blushed. “No, I’m afraid that’s back at the shop.”

“Mm. Well, you never respond to my texts or calls on it, anyway,” Crowley shrugged. Still, he felt there was a bit of progress there. Aziraphale had always called him back on his rotary phone when he noticed Crowley’s attempts to text him, but he did use it regularly for _ one _thing. “Now that I think of it, didn’t think Pokemon Go was meant to run on flip phones,” Crowley said.

“I don’t see why not?” Aziraphale said, genuinely unaware of any potential issue.

“Could be wrong….”

“I do see your point, though,” Aziraphale conceded. “Something like that may have been quite useful. I… suppose I’ll keep it in mind.”

“Good,” Crowley said. He kissed Aziraphale again, and they stayed there like that… until duty eventually called.

“Alrighty,” said the staffer at their door-- different than the one from last time. “Mr. Crowley, you are to report to room 332, and Mr. Fell, room 231.”

“Separate assignments?” Crowley said as the staffer handed them some official-looking forms with their assigned room numbers and scheduled times already written in. There was a map stapled to each page. Crowley handed the one printed with “231” to Aziraphale. 

“I know, I know,” the staffer said, “you specified that you wanted to stay with your husband, right?”

“Husband,” Aziraphale quietly said to himself with a little blush. Crowley fought hard to tamp down his own blush.

“We’re not-” Crowley stammered, “not married.”

“Not yet,” Aziraphale said. Crowley sharply turned his head at the angel, who just kept on smiling.

“Oh. Well, there were no promises,” the staffer said. “S-sorry. And it’s not my call to make, so please don’t yell at me, because I am _ very _ sensitive and I will _ definitely _cry.”

“Oh dear, oh dear, please _ don’t _cry.”

“Fine, whatever,” Crowley said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s… whatever.” He shut the door and blessed under his breath. Then, he looked over the map. “Our rooms aren’t all _ that _far apart, at least. There’s that.”

Aziraphale was looking at his map now. He nodded. Crowley reached over and pushed the page down from Aziraphale’s face, to catch his gaze.

“What was that, earlier?”

“What was what, dearest?”

“Er, uh… “ Crowley tried to shy away, but Aziraphale did not allow him to.

“I’ve never corrected anyone,” Aziraphale said, “whenever they assume… I mean, we practically are at this point. Married, that is.”

“I- uh,” Crowley, flustered and unable to hide it, only shrugged. “I _ guess _.” He gulped. “Uh. I haven’t… either. Corrected anyone before. Wouldn’t have done just then if you weren’t standing right there, probably. D-don’t have a ring, though. Usually that sort of thing involves rings. I think. Not that I ever looked into it”

“I could easily get you one,” Aziraphale said. He then held up his hand, showing off the little decorative ring of gold around his little finger. “I do have this, so we’re halfway there, I should think.”

“S’ on the wrong finger,” Crowley said, taking Aziraphale’s hand in his own. “And it’s really just part of your body, so, don’t think that counts anyway.”

“It _ should _ count,” Aziraphale said. “But I _ do _want to do this the proper way. Let’s get this business with the SPF over quickly. I’d like to get on with making you my husband. Officially.” He straightened up. “Not in a church, of course, unless you expect me to carry you the entire time-”

“-no, no church. Definitely no.”

“-but, in the open… where Heaven, _ and God _, can see us.” He nodded, a smug little grin forming on his face. “Now doesn’t that sound lovely?”

Crowley nodded slowly. “It’s uh, not how I imagined a proposal might’ve gone. But alright. Sure. Yeah. Guess this is happening. Cool.” He smiled nervously as he suppressed the urge to vibrate with excitement.

Aziraphale leaned in closely. “You’ve imagined it before?”

“Uhh… might’ve done… a few times.”

Aziraphale kissed him. “So have I.”

Too soon, came the time to part ways. 

With his chest still fluttering, Crowley made his way towards room 332. He could hardly pay attention to any of his surroundings, and may have had to backtrack more than once when his legs took him past a hall he should have turned into. 

Heavily armored soldiers in black, escorting what appeared to be a prisoner, caught his eye and gave him pause. They were heading in the same direction, and quickly passed him. Crowley decided to follow for a bit.

They turned out to be heading into the same room, although through a different door where he was not allowed to follow. Instead, the instructions on the sheet he carried had him enter the door next to that one.

It opened up to a short few stair steps leading to a slightly elevated, narrow room. It was lined with a desk on one side and a different door on the other. Above the desk was a clear barrier displaying the larger room below. Crowley was alone in the small section, but could see that the prisoner and a guard were standing in the corner down there.

A pedestal with a small wooden cube made up of several smaller, colorful cubes sat in the center of the below area. 

Surrounding it was a minor Heavenly sigil, glowing and thrumming gently. 

Crowley was nervous. It was the implications, more than the sigil itself. But also, the sigil itself. 

The door in the wall behind him opened, and out came the researcher. She joined his side and took a seat.

Crowley said, “May I ask what the deal with the prisoner is?”

“You are what we call V-class,” she said. “Volunteers, or part-timers, that kind of thing. That, down there, is an E-class.”

“E-class, eh? What’s that stand for? Expendable?” _ What exactly were they playing at here? _ He was sure to find out soon enough, but he knew it couldn’t be anything _ good _. People don’t just put down Heavenly sigils for shits and giggles.

...Scratch that, people absolutely would do just because they thought the things looked neato. Not _ these _people, though. Probably not.

“Hey, you got it.”

Crowley squinted at the nervous young man. “He’s expendable to you? That’s just a kid.”

“That _ kid _was put in prison for murder,” she said. “I think. So, yes. ”

“You don’t know for sure?”

“I know we have a contract that discreetly gets us these E-class from high security prisons. That’s _ it _. What do you care?”

“Could’ve been a case of wrong place, wrong time. Gotta arrest _ someone _, please the masses while the real culprit gets to run about free. It happens, y’know.”

The researcher coughed nervously. “It’s not easy finding these _ assistants _ , let alone finding people _ willing _to do this work, even with the online ads. Which is a stupid idea, but again, we’re a little desperate lately. So, we’re all better off just not asking.”

“Maybe,” Crowley murmured. He looked again at the prisoner, and knew that he sensed no murderer’s vibes from that confused young man. Unfortunate, that the humans couldn’t.

“At least they’re not just plucking people from the streets,” she said. “I guess they used to do that, back in the day.”

“How nice.”

“We’ll get started in just a minute here.”

She reached under the desk, dragging out an orange bucket and popping open the lid. She reached for the plastic fork already stuck into the cold piles of spaghetti that filled the container.

“Mm. No one makes spaghetti quite like Chef does,” she said after re-planting the fork. “And thank God for that. Chef has the refined palette of my granny’s ashtray.” She snapped the lid back on. “Oh. Right. Introductions are a thing. You’re Anthony, right?”

“I go by Crowley,” he said with a shrug.

“I’m Doc.”

“What’s up, Doc?”

She silently glared at him, the vision of long-term annoyance giving Crowley a small spark of not-quite evil glee. Not that he needed to go around annoying people anymore. Not that this fact would stop him from doing just that.

“Essentially,” she said, “I need an extra pair of eyes.”

“Oh?”

“I need you to watch the sigil on the floor,” she said, gesturing towards it. “Let me know if it starts to change. If something starts going wrong, we need to know right away so we can lock down the room. We’ll be just fine as long as we catch on early. Can you take off your sunglasses?”

“Nope.”

“I really need you to be able to-”

“I can see it fine,” Crowley said. “It’s my eyes. Gotta keep ‘em on. Something wrong with yours? Or the guard's?”

She said nothing for a long moment.

“Just playing it extra safe,” she said. "The more the merrier. Besides," she tilted her head at the guard, "that one's a total slacker. They always saddle me with him. So _you _had better pay attention."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm looking at it, alright?"

Doc reached for a microphone on the desk and directed the human below to take the cube. He did, but not without extreme hesitation, taking a single cautious step atop the first ring of the sigil. When nothing happened, he came up to the pedestal and did as directed, though still uneasily. 

“You know how a Rubik’s cube works, right? It’s just like that. Solve it, please.”

“O-okay, I… guess?” 

Crowley took the mic from Doc, to her protest. “Stand outside the circle. But keep your arms, uh, extended into it. Do that while you solve the puzzle.”

“Huh?”

“Just do it,” Crowley hissed. “Trust me.”

Doc snatched the mic back. She did not argue or attempt to rescind Crowley’s suggestion, but she did seem miffed. And, mildly suspicious. “You… know what that sigil is?”

“Er,” Crowley said, “I uh. Movies.”

“Movies?”

“Seen this kind of thing in movies.”

She seemed to accept that.

“Just keep your eyes on the sigil and hands off my stuff.”

Crowley leaned in close to the window, eyes locked on the cube as the young man worked at it, arms extended over the circle just as was suggested. When the final side snapped into alignment, the man dropped the cube as if he was suddenly burned by it. It rolled and bounced like a die, re-scrambled itself, and the circle brightened.

Crowley said as much, an afterthought. When he had been captured and held at Site 13, they didn’t go quite so far as to have a dedicated spotter watch the status of the sigil, nor an extra barrier. Beyond just worrying, it was just a tad offensive, thinking back and comparing. He knew he wasn’t a very dangerous demon, but _ they _didn’t have to know that.

“Good. That’s normal. Keep me updated,” Doc said from under the desk. It sounded as if her mouth was full. She came up again and gathered her pile of notes. 

The cube flashed. The young man scrambled, backed into the wall as the trapped demon emerged from the puzzle cube, rising up from a kneeling position to have a big stretch. Something like a lean, grey crocodilian decorated his back like a big spoon-- snuffling snout like a costume hat, thick tail dragging behind. Front limbs curled around the demon’s neck as if it were choking him.

Crowley squinted. The demon below looked directly at him. Crowley shrinked away slightly.

“Gangrel,” Doc said, reading from her notes.

Crowley repeated the name to himself, just vaguely recalling it.

“Doctor,” Gangrel said in greeting. Doc began reading questions from her notes. The questions were of the same variety that had been asked of Crowley during his captivity: questions about the events leading up to the lack of apocalypse. He supposed they really must have been having trouble obtaining guinea pigs to do things like freeing trapped demons, if they had to wait this long to question Gangrel on something that had (not) happened weeks ago.

“I do not know,” Gangrel said to some question that Crowley missed. “It is difficult to have any direct involvement in the outside world when one happens to be _ stuck in a cube _.” Gangrel made eye contact with Crowley again. “In fact… I did not realize this had been going on without me. Someone stopped it?”

“We don’t know exactly _ what _ happened or _ why _ it stopped,” Doc said. “That’s what we’re doing interviews for. We need to figure this out, so we can be better prepared for another _ event _. Or, even better, prevent it entirely. So….”

“Unfortunate,” Gangrel said. In a voice that only Crowley seemed to hear, he added, “I was so looking forward to killing as many angels as possible.” Crowley inwardly cringed. “Unfortunate, isn’t it?”

“R… right,” Crowley muttered. “Yeah. Unfortunate.”

Doc started to ask something else, but could not finish her sentence as she had suddenly vanished from the room. Crowley snapped his head around, then looked at the sigil. It was burning, and it was breaking. 

“Oh _ shit _.”

It shattered around Gangrel. The young man cried out and jammed himself against the corner of the room. He was ignored. In an instant, Gangrel was at the barrier. The guard seemed to have vanished, as well. 

He could feel the demonic energies pouring from the one standing before him. No wonder they had set up extra measures-- the minor sigil on the floor might be enough to hold Crowley, but not _ this _creature. Not for particularly long. Crowley backed up instinctively.

He made short work of the clear barrier.

Great, now Doc was going to blame him for keeping the sunglasses on when he really was just very, very distracted. _ Why am I thinking about that right now? _

“You are… Crawly, aren’t you?”

“Crowley,” he said quickly. He subtly snapped open the lower door for the panicking young man, which the human instantly launched himself through.

“They never came looking for me,” Gangrel said. “Let me rot for thousands of years, forever tethered to the Shape of Lament.”

“They _ did _look,” Crowley said, raising his hands defensively as Gangrel came uncomfortably close. 

“How long?”

“Uh… er,” Crowley shrugged. “I mean, things start getting a little busy and….”

“You were the permanent Earth agent,” Gangrel said. “It should have been part of _ your _job to search for missing demons on Earth, yes?”

“Dunno about that,” Crowley said. “They didn’t really bring it up after a while. I figured uh, hey, someone probably found you, right? Brought you back home. Guess not.” He grinned nervously. “My bad?”

“And the war,” Gangrel said, snarling now, “the war stopping-- “

“I had _ nothing _to do with all that,” Crowley said. For the first time, he could say he was actually glad of that fact, even if his pride wasn’t.

“You did nothing to stop the war from stopping?”

“Uh…mm… er.”

Gangrel sniffed. “You smell like an angel.”

“New cologne.”

Gangrel reached at his belt. For the first time, Crowley noticed the sheathed swords hanging off of it. 

“Seeing you... I couldn't help but feel a surge of energy. Excitement. I've never broken a sigil quite so quickly before! I believe it is a new record for me," Gangrel laughed. "I’ve been so looking forward to the exhilaration of battle against angels,” he said. “I need a substitute.”

“Might I interest you in some gory video games, then?”

Gangrel drew his weapon and pointed it directly at Crowley’s throat. He gulped.

“L-look, I was a… an artist, not a soldier. So, fighting _ me _, doubt that’ll be any fun.”

“We do not have to fight,” Gangrel said. Crowley exhaled without realizing he had been holding his breath. Gangrel grinned. “Torture has its merits, as well.”


	2. i take that back this was a really bad idea

Meanwhile....

\--------

“Dr. Biff Vanderhuge,” said the researcher, extending a hand to Aziraphale. The angel took it and shook briefly. 

They were in a small containment chamber-- a basic room with a few tables and chairs, and what was presumably The Object sat on a pedestal against the far wall. “You must be… “

“Azi-” Aziraphale covered his mouth and faked a cough, “erm, Ezra. Ezra Fell.”

“Good to meet you, Ezra,” Vanderhuge said. He took a document off a nearby table. “Now, it says here that you know _ several hundred languages, _ including many dead ones _ ? _Is that humanly possible?” he laughed. So did Aziraphale, though less mirthfully. “We could really, really use your help here, then. With a… sort of dead language, specifically. And plenty of other languages afterwards if this goes well.“

Aziraphale suspected he _ has _ known, over several thousand years, so many languages. He hadn’t exactly kept track. Now, being competent in all, or even remembering them all? That was something else entirely. He maintained his Japanese thanks to a love of authentic sushi. Frequent restaurant visits gave him ample opportunity to keep in practice, and of course there was English… and… and… French… _ kind of _… and… uh… hm.

He didn’t think they might actually call him out on this. 

Dr. Vanderhuge pressed a switch on the podium. The dome atop it popped open, revealing a cloudy-blue crystal ball. In its center was a small sigil. Aziraphale squinted at it.

“One of our researchers,” Vanderhuge said, “passed recently. And unfortunately, they were the only one among our staff who could read the runes that operate this object. Dr. Jeff Gompers was the name. Now, for the record, they’d be sure to inform you that the _ Jeff _is silent. Even though they’re no longer with us, we’ll ask you to respect that.”

Aziraphale paused before saying, “pardon? May I ask that you repeat that first bit?”

“The _ J _ , _ E _ , and _ F _ are silent.”

“Both _ F’s _?” Aziraphale said.

“All of the _ F _’s.”

“Just how many _ F’ _s are there?”

“No one really knows for sure,” Vanderhuge shrugged. “If anyone has to write out their full name, we just put down two for the sake of ease.” 1

“This,” Aziraphale waved a hand, “This, er ...Gompers, was it? Did they not write anything down?”

“Oh, they did,” Vanderhuge said, digging a folded up note out of his pocket. He handed it to Aziraphale. “But I don’t think even you could translate this one. They wrote it entirely in cursive.”

“Surely, you don’t mean to tell me that none among your foundation can read cursive? I find that very hard… to….”

Aziraphale opened up the note. He frowned and turned it sideways, then upside-down when that proved useless.

[1. Press and hold F for an indeterminate amount of time to pay respects.]

“Er.”

“See what I mean? We’re not sure we can even call that _ handwriting. _ They meant to type out a transcript-- they kept saying they would-- but they died before getting around to it. Probably that TCG habit getting in the way.”

“TCG? That’s… ”

“Uhhh, you know, trading card games?”

“Ah, yes, yes. I am familiar.” Back in the 90's, a small group of people, for whatever reason, had decided that Aziraphale’s bookshop would make an ideal location to play Magic: the Gathering. They weren’t trying to buy his books, were strangely entertaining, and the smell seemed to deter customers from sticking around to argue about pricing for too long.2 They even ended up teaching him how to play. It’s not something he had kept up on since the group eventually dissolved. The reminder of its existence sparked an urge to perhaps look into it again, if he and Crowley made it out of here alive.

“Do go on.”

“Right. Gompers was super into nerd crap like that. We know because we kept on catching them buying cards or playing online any time they were at a computer... instead of transcribing.”

Aziraphale had given up on the note and handed it back. Vanderhuge took it and continued.

“They also died with plenty of other vital information, like our Netflix password. What we need from you-- this might sound weird but bear with me-- what we need is for you to operate that orb. If you can read what’s on it.”

“May I ask what language it is?” Aziraphale said, though he had his suspicions. 

“You can tell me,” Vanderhuge said. He carefully took the orb and placed it in Aziraphale’s hands. “I’ll tell you the rest if you can recognize the language. You tell me.”

[2  As someone who also likes collecting nerd crap like that, typing this gave the author critical psychic damage.]

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Y-yes. I can,” he said. “But how on Earth did the doctor learn it? He is-- he was human, was he not?”

“Oh, yes. There was some SPF-related incident a long time ago,” Vanderhuge said. “We don’t encounter Heavenly objects or entities often in this day and age, but it does happen rarely. Usually doesn’t end well, but Gompers lucked out.” Vanderhuge leaned in. “The Foundation doesn’t like making Heavenly-incidents super public knowledge, so you didn’t hear that from me. How did you learn to read Enochian, by the way?”

Enochian. _ Real _Enochian. His native tongue. Even today, he and Crowley would occasionally speak to each other with it when they couldn't find the right words in human language. Aziraphale vaguely recalled one human who claimed to have been contacted by angels, and transcribed their language. If he truly got his ‘Enochian’ from real angels, they were likely of the Fallen variety, having approached this poor human for a laugh.

Aziraphale struggled to, on the spot, formulate a convincing story as to why he knew the language. So, he didn’t. 

“That is deeply, deeply personal. _ Please _don’t go there.”

“Alright, alright,” Vanderhuge said, confused but obliging. “Well, now that that’s settled, what we really need you to do is contact the doctor for us and get a few answers out of them.”

“You need me to contact them from the dead,” Aziraphale said quietly. “From… “

“Heaven, yes.”

Aziraphale was quite glad to have gone no-contact with Gabriel and the other Archangels, and would prefer to keep it that way for the time being. That time, being: forever. 

He figured that the next time he encountered any of them, it was going to be with swords or other such pointy implements pointed directly at him and Crowley.

“We believe Dr. Gompers was in contact with an angel called Abraxas, or some weird name like that,” said Dr. Vanderhuge.

Aziraphale had never heard of such an angel. If he were to speak with some nobody, low-rank angel, he supposed that might be okay. Perhaps this _ Abraxas _won’t even recognize him. Aziraphale delicately took the object in both hands, running them over the smooth surface before touching the small, round rune. From it spiraled out a ring of several more. He had never handled such a thing before, nor did he know of its existence until today, but it was intuitive enough to him. It was a Heavenly object, after all, somehow left accidentally on Earth or… perhaps obtained in other ways. The human researcher beside him had not provided its particular document. Perhaps it was within the official booklet-- the one he couldn’t bear to read past a paragraph or so of page one without surely dying of boredom. Or horror. Both? Was both possible?

The orb hummed, pulling Aziraphale from his thoughts. The image of a figure in white-- white wings, simple golden halo, some kind of… triangular fin on their back? -- shook their head in brief confusion and then faced Aziraphale’s general direction, before snapping into focus. 

“Uh-- hello-- I mean, Greetings,” they said, gathering their composure. “I am the angel Abraxas and… Aziraphale?” They squinted. “Oi, you’re the angel Aziraphale, aren’t you?”

Aziraphale quickly lulled the researcher leaning over his shoulder into a trance. Abraxas waved amiably, and Aziraphale nervously copied the gesture.

“Er, yes,” Aziraphale said, “and you are… _ do _I know you?”

He swiped his fingers over the orb, the view swiveling slightly though it remained centrally focused on Abraxas. All that was visible was a blue sky and a mantle of fluffy white clouds. Aziraphale wondered at that, among other things.

“Maybe passed each other by once or twice,” said Abraxas. “But all of us above and below know all about you and your boyfriend,” they snickered. Aziraphale took in a sharp breath as he tried to hide his internal panic. 

“And what is it _ do _ you all know, exactly?” he said. “He’s my _ fiance _, by the way.”

“Oooh.”

“Indeed.”

“You survived being engulfed by Hellfire,” Abraxas said, “and he survived a holy water bath. I should be asking _ you _ what it is _ you _ know that we don’t know about _ you _. You know?”

“Yes? Er, no?” Aziraphale said, then shook his head. “You-- you won’t be getting any such answers from me. Nor Crowley.”

“Don’t need to freak out about it,” Abraxas said, arms crossed.

“I am not _ freaking out _ !” Aziraphale cleared his throat and recomposed himself. “What _ is _all of this?” Orb palmed in one hand, he gestured vaguely with the other. “This is not heaven, and you are no angel. Those wings, that halo-- nothing more than a cheap Halloween costume!”

Abraxas laughed, brief and harsh. Discolored wings, blue-ish black and draped in damp seaweed, emerged from their back to stretch up and over their faux-feather-and-wire strapped-on ones. A moment later, they vanished into the aether once again. Quietly, they said, “No. This is Hell.”

“But… why? Why would you do this?” Aziraphale said, alarmed and puzzled. But, he knew he should not be invested in this anymore. He had no need to be offended on behalf of Heaven. Not that they would care at this point, either, he was sure. Aziraphale thought about it for a moment. “Tricking human souls into believing they’ve achieved Heaven, then pulling the rug out from under them-- is that your game? It’s certainly _ creative _, particularly for a demon.” Crowley had always said that Hell was quite lacking in creativity. Perhaps things had changed. Or...

“Honestly?” Abraxas said, shifting their weight. “It started out that way, kind of. Long, long time ago, we thought it’d be a funny prank to pull on our fellow demon. He was scheduled to come back for a meeting or, something. Set this whole thing up just for him, had some laughs afterwards. But y’know, for some reason? Human souls turned up too. Souls that we were _ pretty _ sure weren’t supposed to be down here. The prank-ee ended up looking into it and _ a lot _ of otherwise decent souls end up down here, in fact. Even _ before _we set up our prank, we’ve had Heaven-worthy souls in Hell. Dunno why. Still don’t know why. Our fake Heaven ended up gathering them all in this one spot, though. Like a beacon, or magnet.

“Soo, some of us felt a little, uh-- we felt like-- it’s not like we felt _ sorry _for them! It’s just, just,” Abraxas grimaced, “we just started, uhhh… well y’know, we tried to do what we thought Heaven would do. I wasn’t directly involved in that stuff back in the day. Neither were the others, so we had to improvise. We did the place up the way we thought the humans might like it, with the stupid fluffy clouds and… harps.”

“Harps. _ Really _. Harps.”

“Tried to take care of them. Make them happy, just in case some angels decided to do a headcount for once and came to pick their souls up. What if they didn’t like what they saw, right? Right. Right. Yeah. That was the plan until we could get into contact and carry some of these people up where they belong. And you know what? First time I finally get Heaven to open up, just long enough to let me up there with a dozen souls or so, the humans take one look and just laugh at me. _ Ha ha. Funny joke, can we go back now? _Can you believe that?”

“...Yes, actually. Quite easily.” Aziraphale said somberly.

“Lord Beelzebub found out about our little operation,” Abraxas continued. “Thought they’d be pissed off, and they were, for a bit. Thought they’d order us to take everything down, thought they’d tell The Big Man Downstairs. And I think, they nearly did. But as it turns out, _ Heaven Duty _ and _ harp practice _is a great punishment for shoddy demon-ing.”

“I can imagine,” Aziraphale said, as someone familiar in catering to humans. Well, dealing with humans who _expect _to be catered to, at any rate. He loathed to think of actually having to provide customer service to anyone, Heaven-worthy or otherwise. 

“They got the impression somehow that the whole thing was my idea,” Abraxas sighed. “So I’m in charge of the operation down here now. What a pain in my ass. I used to love pranks.” Abraxas shook their head. “They treated me like an angel... and that’s what I became.”

“Well, not literally,” Aziraphale said.

“No, not literally, thank Satan. Eww. Full offence.”

“Offence taken,” Aziraphale said briskly. “Whose idea _ was _this, then, if not yours?”

“Ask your bastard snake, Crowley,” Abraxas said, no real ire in their voice.

“Crowley… ?”

Suddenly, Abraxas said, “Oi, Aziraphale. Why are you contacting me anyway? And from the orb thing? I didn’t think anyone but the SPF knew about that. Still don’t know how they got my contact info… you don’t know anything about that, do you?”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, “No, sorry. No idea. But, I was wondering if you happened to know of a certain deceased doctor’s whereabouts? Dr… Gompers, I believe? Is Gompers with you?” In a more hushed voice, he added, “do they know?”

“Sure, I could get the doc for you. But” Abraxas grinned, “what makes you think _ anyone _ who willingly works for the Foundation for any extended period of time qualifies for Heaven?” Abraxas snorted. “Let alone _ this _ sham.” Aziraphale gave a small gasp. Abraxas’ true wings emerged again, beating and then bearing them aloft. The orb’s view followed them away from the false Heaven, transitioning jarringly into the deeper, danker, depressing domain of Hell. The things that went on in that place, Aziraphale could have very easily done without ever having to see for himself. This included the things that the demons got up to. He had spotted a “Do Not Lick the Walls” sign during his/”Crowley”’s trial, but had not considered the reason why such a thing had to be put on display in the first place. He didn’t particularly _ want _to have to consider it, but, well, too late for that now.

Briefly, he felt sorrow for the dead researcher. Then again, they were part of the organization that had kidnapped his demon and had sent someone with delicious treats to distract from the fact that they were spying on him, so perhaps Abraxas had a point.

During their flight, Abraxas’ shoddy Halloween costume had vanished, having apparently traded it for the unpleasant-looking dolphin-shaped thing fused to their back. 

They found the doctor, who was not having a good time. Not even a sort of okay time. Abraxas managed to convince the demon ‘attending’ to the doctor to step aside for a moment.

With the help of the hypnotized Vanderhuge, Aziraphale questioned Dr. Gompers. Though the researcher had fairly recently passed, it seemed as if they had been trapped in Hell for years. It may have been true. The passage of time between these realms did not necessarily line up. Aziraphale wrestled again between feeling badly and feeling as if justice was enacted. 

It had slipped that Dr. Gompers had died via an “anomalous banana incident”. Fantastic. Now, Aziraphale had to tell himself that it wasn’t funny either.

“You’re an angel… ?” the doctor said with a strained voice. Aziraphale nodded solemnly. “Please… please help me.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, I can’t-”

“Please. I’m so tired. It doesn’t end. It never, never ends….”

“I’m sorry-”

“My life counter hit zero what must have been _ months _ ago, but he just won’t end his turn and neither of us can deck out. He just _ keeps piling spells and effects on and on and on…. _”

Interview over, Aziraphale ensured that Vanderhuge would remember the relevant information without recalling the true state of Gompers, nor the plane of existence Gompers had been suffering on, nor any weird dolphin angels (“angels”). Not that anyone was suffering. Nope. Not at all. Vanderhuge woke up.

Aziraphale said, “What exactly is it you have been contacting He... Heaven for?”

The researcher gave him a puzzled look. “Do you need a specific reason for it? It’s incredible, having a legit two-way conversation with a legit angel. Come on!” Noting Aziraphale’s expression, Vanderhuge added, “what are you, atheist or something?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to speak, but decided that just _ maybe _it was best not to blow his cover. 

“I was, once,” Vanderhuge said, distantly. “Then I started working here and… well… to be honest, my… general opinion on Gods hasn’t changed much. I _ know _ they _ exist _ . I can’t argue that anymore. But that’s not the same as _ believing in _ them. Not after… not after some of the things I’ve… no. I don’t _ believe in _ them. ”

Aziraphale held the orb close to his chest. He was silent for a moment. A long moment. A long, awkward moment.

Crowley had said something to that affect before. More than once. It used to upset him. Now, it was upsetting him that it didn't seem to upset him _more_.

..._ Wait. Did he say ‘Gods’ with an ‘s’? Must have misheard. Must have…. _

Eventually, slowly, he said, “you _ are _scientists, so surely, there must be some particular goal in mind?”

Leaning against the wall, Vanderhuge said, “Well, yes. The higher ups want to know more about angels. Like, how best to capture and keep them restrained.” Aziraphale flinched. The researcher continued, oblivious to the reaction. “We have pretty decent data on lots of other occult creatures-” _ wince _ , “-but angels in particular seem very elusive, and very… very very dangerous. Of course, we can’t just _ outright _ask what their weaknesses are! It’s been a long process, but Dr. Gompers was making good headway gaining that one’s trust! Maybe. We think.

“You know, we showed Abraxas a pair of ancient manacles we had in the archives. Gompers translated the manual and said they should work on angels, and we had our Heavenly contact confirm the translation, too. But we haven’t exactly found any angels to test them on yet. Who knows if they still work or are even real.”

Aziraphale gulped. “And… if they do work? What would you do once you have an angel... restrained?”

“We do what we do with all our objects, I guess,” Vanderhuge shrugged.

“Testing how one might react to being, say, _ punched in the face _?” Aziraphale said, sardonically quoting the Foundation motto he had seen plastered on the building’s entrance. Vanderhuge laughed.

“No, no, of course not. That’s the old- not usually, anyway.”

“_Not_ _usually_?”

“We do some interviews, test its abilities. Its limits. Maybe see what it looks like on the inside.”

The researcher gestured at the orb and held out his hand. “May I have the object back now?”

Aziraphale manually lowered each of his eyebrows, glanced at the researcher, then back at the orb. He nodded.

“Yes, of course, absolutely, here you-- ah!” 

The orb sparked. A surge of energy radiated out, and the room lights flickered and lost power. It fell to the floor and _ cracked _with a terrible sound. The lights returned to reveal the orb-- dim, ruined. The researcher gaped.

“Oh dear me, I am so sorry!” Aziraphale said, raising his palms. “I have no idea what-- it simply exploded on me!”

Dr. Vanderhuge bent, removed a pen from his pocket and tentatively nudged the orb before picking it up. It would not reactivate again.

“That-- that’s-- damn! It-- it’s not your fault. I didn’t see you do anything unusual-- these things happen sometimes, place like this. Damn. Damn!” Vanderhuge groaned and plopped the orb down on its pillar. Without looking up, he waved his hand weakly and said, “You’re dismissed for now, Mr. Fell. Thank you for your help.”

Aziraphale nodded and turned away with a satisfied smirk on his face.

The moment he exited the containment chamber was the moment Crowley came barreling into him from around the corner. 

“Angel! There you are!” he said, gripping the startled angel’s shoulders. He began to tug at him, attempting to pull him further down the hall. “We need to go, now!”

“Wha- what the hell did you do?” Aziraphale said as the two of them started dashing down the hallway. “Crowley?” he panted. Crowley skidded to a stop. Aziraphale crashed into him from behind. He grabbed his arm. “Crowley!”

An alarm sounded, startling the angel. Crowley tried to take a step back, only to bump into Aziraphale.

“Angel,” Crowley whispered, “I don’t think the booklet I was reading earlier was, er, complete.”

<<Attention! Containment breach in progress. Please remain in place. Lockdown in progress. Please remain…. >>

Aziraphale looked up. A strange demon stepped down the hallway before them as panicked steps and slamming doors echoed down the halls, along with the blaring warning. Steel doors began to slide down from the ceiling to block off sections of the hallways. Unfortunately, Gangrel made into their vicinity before one of those doors could block him off. They were trapped, together.

“I smell an angel,” Gangrel said, a jagged sword in one hand, the puzzle box in another. Idly, he bounced the box up and down, into the air and back. He could never stray far from it, his prison. It would not allow him to. He took another step forward.

Crowley groped at the air behind and below himself without moving his gaze, searching for Aziraphale’s hand. He found it and squeezed gently.

“No angels here,” Crowley quickly said. He whispered, “Play along,” and gave Aziraphale’s hand another squeeze, which Aziraphale returned. Gangrel took another step forward.

“You,” Gangrel said, pointing the sword in their direction. “Ah. I remember you, Principality.” He sniffed the air. “Hmm. I _ thought _I smelled an angel, but perhaps I was mistaken?”

Aziraphale nodded quickly. “I am most definitely a demon,” he said, smiling nervously. Disguising his divine nature was not a very easy thing to maintain, but Aziraphale supposed he could manage it for a little bit. Especially so, if he smelled a bit like a demon already, most likely thanks to sleeping with one.

“He’s just recently Fallen,” Crowley said, shifting awkwardly. “Probably why you thought you ‘angel’ there briefly. Showing him the ropes and all that. Goes by, uh, Zira now.”

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley’s ear. “Why is it I am always the one being trained by you in these encounters?”

“Are you an expert on demoning, now?”

“I’m am an expert on _ a demon _,” Aziraphale said curtly. “I may not be here today if I wasn’t, in fact.” 

Gangrel came face-to-face with the two. The alarms quieted.

Gangrel snorted. “You are far too _ soft _to be a demon.”

Aziraphale held his hands before his waist, fiddling slightly. “Well… appearances can be deceiving,” he said.

Crowley rested an arm on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Complete monster under all that fluff. He’ll destroy you and everyone you know without a second thought. Falling really knocked a few screws loose. Right angel?” Aziraphale arched an eyebrow. Crowley quickly added, “Nickname-- our little joke. Angel.”

“Yes,” Aziraphale said testily, still glaring at Crowley.

Crowley leaned toward Gangrel, fingers still gripping Aziraphale’s shoulder. “So you might want to bugger off back to your little puzzle box, Gangrel. For your own safety.”

Gangrel did not bugger off back to his little puzzle box. He tossed it behind him and raised his sword.

“Oh?” Gangrel said. He drew another sword from his waist and tossed it to Aziraphale, who caught it just barely. “Demonstrate.”

“Wha-?”

“Demonstrate?!”

Gangrel took a few steps back, sword raised. Crowley’s grip on Aziraphale’s shoulder tightened.

“You know what, Gangrel? I lied. He _ is _an angel.” In a low voice, he said to Aziraphale, “Quick, smite him!”

Gangrel smiled. “As I thought.”

Well, so much for that half-assed idea.

“I-I can’t _ smite _him,” Aziraphale said in the same hushed tones. “Not while you’re trapped in here, too. Not enough space, no hiding places-- I can’t-- ah!” Aziraphale raised the forcibly-borrowed sword to block Gangrel’s own. Crowley fell backwards from the impact. He squirmed away backwards as Aziraphale’s unblinking eye-embellished wings exploded out from behind him. He flapped- hard-- the extra push abruptly shoving the other demon back. Aziraphale infused the sword with a touch of holy power, igniting it. The surge of power briefly made his halo visible. 

The sword was not as powerful, not as holy as the original, God-given flaming sword, but it would have to do.

“Angel!” Crowley said, pointing up at the device mounted on the ceiling. “Camera! There’s-- shit, there’s a _ blessed _camera up there!” He snapped at it, shorting it in a burst of sparks. It fell to the floor. A hatch, where it had been mounted, opened up and immediately replaced it with another working security camera. “Wuh… ?”

Aziraphale had exhaled deeply and hid his wings again. Gangrel ran a finger up his sword, coating it in infernal fire, indistinguishable to the mortal eye from Aziraphale’s blade of divine flames.

Gangrel said. “Seems I’ll have my opportunity to play with an angel after all. We shall have such fun. And then,” he shot Crowley a look, and started chuckling. It was not a nice chuckle.

“Fun? _ Play _ ? You really ought to pick up a dictionary sometime,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll even let you borrow one of mine. _ Borrow. _Not keep.”

“What is a holy warrior, without a holy war?” Gangrel said. Aziraphale may have been a warrior, but those days were long past. And if one were to ask the other angels now, the “holy” bit was highly in question as well.

“...A book dealer,” Aziraphale said.

Gangrel lifted his sword and lapped his tongue up the blade, licking up the flames as he went along. He blew them out dramatically.

Crowley said, “That’s just unsanitary,” as he exploded another security camera.

The angel frowned. “...Gangrel, was it? Wouldn’t you prefer to- nhh!”

As Aziraphale held off the next swing, he stole a glance at Crowley. Looking wretched, his demon mouthed at him _ I’m sorry _.

Aziraphale sidestepped, the infernal sword swung past his head. A single wing involuntarily emerged to flap and push himself out of the way. The sword just grazed a feather as Aziraphale forcibly hid it away again. It floated to the floor, landing blackened and still smouldering. He gasped and swung in retaliation, only barely scratching the surface of Gangrel’s clothing, leaving a shallow, glowing mark in his chest. Gangrel hissed and smoked slightly, but it became a harsh, breathy laughter.

“Bit… bit out of practice,” Aziraphale said. “Really, must we do this? Instead we could… play a card game?”

Gangrel’s answer came in the form of another attack. 

Another camera fell, another camera emerged. Crowley was growing tired, firing this constant stream of demonic miracles and likely exposing his true nature even further. Although, part of him was sure they must be running low on extra cameras by now. What was the Foundation’s budget, anyway? Big enough to afford this, not enough to keep assistants on? Whatever it was, it was deeply mismanaged.

Aziraphale looked up just long enough to see him try blowing up one more camera. “Oh, for Heaven’s sake, Crowley,” he said as he miracled a stylish tartan cloth over the new one.

“Oh,” Crowley said, then winced as Aziraphale blocked another attack.

Crowley, still on the floor, backed up, further away from the clash before him. His back hit something solid, and it was not the wall. A bit of popcorn fell into his hair. Crowley shook it out and looked up at the tall skeletal figure lounging in a lawn chair.

Crowley turned. “Wha--?” He looked back at Aziraphale, still holding his own in his reluctant fight with Gangrel. “Who’s _ dying _?”

**EVERYONE**, Death said.

“I mean _ here _,” Crowley said, trying to tamp the panic trying to escape his voice. “In this room, today?”

**AH. YES. I SUPPOSE THAT IS WHAT PEOPLE GENERALLY MEAN WHEN THEY ASK ME THAT QUESTION. **

“You won’t take my angel,” Crowley snarled, baring his fangs. “I’ll fight you myssself.”

**IF YOU LIKE**, Death said, taking another handfull of popcorn from his bucket, **BUT THERE MAY BE NO NEED. THERE ARE MANY POSSIBLE OUTCOMES. DO YOU KNOW OF THE UNCERTAINTY PRINCIPAL?**

Crowley paused. “Uhm. Not sure.”

**AH, SO YOU ARE FAMILIAR, THEN.**

“Crowley?” Aziraphale said, glancing over for just a moment, “Who are you-- oh good lord, n-- uhh!”

Gangrel, having looked over as well, laughed, deep and hearty. “Yes, yes! Who among us shall perish? Adds to the thrill, does it not?”

Aziraphale slashed at him frantically. “It does not!” Gangrel landed a blow directly across Aziraphale’s forehead. It singed him deeply, glowing and sizzling. 

“Aziraphale!” Crowley cried. He looked up at Death, at the scythe and sword strapped to his hips. “_ Do _ something!” he said, then gaped a moment. “Scratch that. _ You _ can fuck right off. _ I’ll _do something.”

**I WAS ABOUT TO SAY…**

“Don’t say a word!” Crowley said, scrambling to his feet. But _ what _ , exactly, he was to do without a weapon that could incapacitate another demon-- let alone one much more powerful than he-- was a plan still in development. Objects of _ that _nature weren’t the sort of thing Crowley could simply miracle up. Then, he spotted the puzzle cube across the room, across the battle still in progress. Crowley grabbed a large handfull of Death’s popcorn and shoved it into his mouth, immediately wished he hadn’t but swallowed anyway, then dashed off, hugging the sides of the room. 

**HEY**

Gangrel noticed, very much so. He reached out to grab Crowley with his free hand. The fear of knowing that Gangrel could and would crumple him like a newspaper granted him the swiftness needed to just barely avoid his grasp. Aziraphale jabbed at Gangrel’s exposed chest, sinking in only as far as the tip. Gangrel grabbed that instead before it could go further, allowing the blade to seer and dig into his fingers as he grit his teeth, a terrible pained growling sounding from his throat. He ripped it out. Aziraphale hung on tightly and punched him with a wing. He swiftly tucked it back in again.

<<Mobile Task Force Omikron Sigma Eta Iota Alpha Alpha Alpha “Escort Mission” has entered the building. All staff are advised to remain in place until building has been secured. Staff will be escorted to safety once escaped object or objects have been contained or neutralized.>>

Aziraphale did all he could to keep Gangrel focused on him, not Crowley, as he clumsily, haltingly made his way across the room. Gangrel kicked Aziraphale away, landing him on the floor, and stabbed directly at Crowley. He would have hit, had he not quickly transformed into a small feathery serpent, his sunglasses clattering to the floor. Crowley landed on Gangrel’s arm and slithered up towards his head. Gangrel stumbled and buckled slightly, then recomposed himself and tried throwing the snake off, but then Crowley was a spring-shaped snake, and then human-shaped after launching himself into the air.

Crowley landed hard on the floor and scrambled to get to the cube before Gangrel could reach him. Aziraphale called out to Crowley, forcing himself up with a helping flap from his wings. He held the attacking demon back, wings beating frantically as Gangrel tried pulling away. He kicked Aziraphale and ran at Crowley.

Moments before his sword would have struck Crowley’s head, he was sucked into the solved cube.

“Ffffuck,” Crowley gasped.

Gangrel complained about their “fun” cut too short. He was ignored.

Aziraphale snuffed out the holy sword and tossed it aside, then fell to the floor right beside Crowley. The demon sat up and reverently touched Aziraphale’s face, examining the wounds left by the infernal blade. The one that crossed his forehead was searing hot and would not ever cool on its own. Aziraphale winced instinctively at the near-touch.

“I should be angry with you right now,” Aziraphale said, though softly. The exhaustion and hurt could be felt through his voice and it pained Crowley to see him in such a state. But, Death was gone, chair and all. They would be okay. At least, for now.

“He broke himself out,” Crowley said. “Didn't ask to get assigned to the chamber of a_ bigger demon_."

“Well then,” Aziraphale said, “I believe you, dearest. Now,” he sighed, slumping into Crowley’s embrace, “I don’t think he managed any major damage, but what he _ did _do hurts like… well… hurts like hell,” he said, weakly smiling.

Crowley leaned in and kissed across the wound on his face, soothing and healing it as he did so. Demonic miracles for demonic injuries. Kissed the slashes on his hands and shoulders, ran his fingers over his sides, removing as much of that pain as he could and mending his clothing as well. Infernal wounds were not quick nor simple to heal, and Aziraphale could not currently muster up the energy to even begin to try it himself, and even then all he could do was soothe them slightly. They were mostly shallow cuts, thankfully.

“Dearest,” Aziraphale sighed happily, “my... lips ache, as well.”

Crowley smiled and obliged him. Aziraphale kissed back, and hard. He ended up atop Crowley on the floor and the two of them simply rested there like that for the moment.

The scars and exhaustion remained, but at least most of the pain had abated thanks to Crowley’s gentle ministrations.

“When’s the last time you’ve been in a real sword fight?” Crowley said lazily. “Since your days as a knight, I expect.”

“I’ve practiced a little, here and there, since then,” Aziraphale said, touching Crowley’s hair idly. “When the mood strikes me. Not recently, however. And then Death showed up and, oh,” Aziraphale took Crowley’s face in his hands again and pressed his cheek to the other’s, nuzzling it. “I’m just so, so glad you’re safe, my dearest.” Crowley shut his eyes, soaking in his affection, silently noting that Death’s appearance had him worrying about Crowley, as he had Aziraphale.

He opened his eyes and lazily looked upon the cube once it started talking again.

“A demon, with an _ angel _ for a lover. Disgusting. Outrageous. _ Traitorous _. I like your style, Crowley.”

Crowley moved to sit up. Aziraphale let him, reluctantly. “I hope you like your little box. I’ll be personally making sure you _ stay _there, this time.”

“It is not so bad,” Gangrel said. “Although the Wi-Fi is abysmal. No signal for an entire week is entirely unacceptable.”

“Huh.”

“Will you not at least release me just long enough to use the lavatory? I am running low on empty bottles.”

“Eugh.”

“Well,” Aziraphale said, contemplative.

“And then perhaps, just a _ brief _torture session?”

“Definitely not!” Aziraphale said.

“What he said.”

“Come, now,” Gangrel said, voice low. “It shall be-”

“_ No _,” Aziraphale and Crowley said in unison.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Fun for who?” Crowley said, spreading his hands. “_ Who _ thinks being tortured is _ fun _?”

“Well,” Aziraphale said quietly, “some people _ do _enjoy that. But I don’t believe that’s the sort of torture he’s refering to.”

Crowley opened his mouth, paused, shut it again, then raised a finger at Aziraphale. “We’re-- we’re going to have a private discussion later. Hold that thought.”

Aziraphale only smiled in response. Crowley kicked the puzzle box away, snickering at Gangrel’s disoriented cry.

“SPF’s good for one thing, at least,” Crowley said, “keeping right bastards like this locked up.”

Aziraphale tilted his head. “Do you recall that shadow man with the sweet tooth?”

“You mean the one you set loose?”

“The one _ you _insisted upon gawking at as if we were at some kind of exhibition?”

Crowley mumbled some kind of affirmative noise. “What about it?”

“Do you think they recaptured it?” Aziraphale said, frowning. “It keeps popping up from the back of my mind.”

“I imagine a trail of sweets leading to a tall box propped on a stick should do the trick easily enough. So, I’m sure they must’ve done by now,” Crowley grinned. “Speaking of, don’t go following any random trails of sweets, angel.”

“It’s trapped in a mirr-,” Aziraphale hesitated, processing that last sentence, and rolled his eyes. “Honestly….”

The steel doors on one side slid open, drawing the two’s immediate attention. “Escort Mission” had arrived, clad in tactical gear, heavy weaponry pointed in Aziraphale and Crowley’s directions. Cautiously, they held up their hands.

“Just a couple of V-class,” one said. They lowered their weapons. The angel and demon relaxed, but not too much. Crowley replaced his sunglasses.

“Hey, there’s the Rubik’s cube,” said another.

From within the object came Gangrel’s protest. “It is the _ Shape of Lament!” _

Crowley said, “Yeah, see, he’s in there. Gangrel. No worries. All good.”

One of the MTF approached slowly to gingerly pick the cube up. They sealed it in a specialized case. “Did you two... recapture the spiff? How… ?”

“No,” Aziraphale and Crowley said, together, and perhaps a bit too quickly.

“Was like that when we got here,” Crowley said.

“Nothing to do with us,” Aziraphale added. “Never seen anything like that before in my life.”

“Before just now,” Crowley said.

“Before… just now, yes,” Aziraphale said.

“You’ve never seen a cube before in your life?” 

Aziraphale blanked while Crowley palmed his forehead. “You’ve been missing out!” the MTF finished. “I’ve got a pamphlet on cubes here that you’re gonna love. Big cubes, fluffy cubes, ice cubes, my 122 page rant on Cube 2: Hypercube-”

The MTF next to him grabbed Obsessed With Cubes Guy before he could reach into his pockets. “Stop, stop, _ stop _.” She turned to the angel and demon. “Right… alright, anyway, on your feet. I’ll be leading you out to the safe zone. You’ll be able to return once we’ve confirmed everything’s been secured. Do not take the cube pamphlet. You will regret everything.”

“What’s that s’posed to mean?” Crowley said, helping Aziraphale up. “Now you got me curious.”

“It just means what it means.”

“Quit dunking on my _ magnum opus _. I crafted it love and glitter.”

“You _ shut your mouth _ and keep your hands where I can see them.”

Aziraphale leaned into Crowley. He whispered, “perhaps it’s best that we don’t ask.”

“I just want to know how you manage to fit 122 pages into a _ pamphlet _.”

“What did I just say, dearest?”

“Right, fine. Let’s go.”


	3. welp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to split this one big chapter up :P

They returned to their room once the MTF had announced that they were all cleared for re-entry. Aziraphale lay face down, body and wings fully exposed on their bed while Crowley, half-dressed himself, ran healing fingers over the rest of his injuries. He preened his wings while he was at it.

There was a book in Aziraphale’s hands, but he had a difficult time focusing on it. Crowley’s increasingly amorous touches and kisses might have been the major cause of his distraction if the many, many other things on his mind were not weighing heavier.

“Do you know of a demon named Abraxas? I was asked to speak with them today.”

“Abraxas. That’s a name I’ve not heard in a while,” Crowley said. He was laying flush against Aziraphale’s back at the moment, taking his sweet time healing a mark that may or may not have been on his neck. “Been a long, long time,” he said into his ear. Aziraphale told Crowley what had happened, about the false Heaven and the duty Abraxas had taken on as a false angel. Crowley mostly expressed surprise that Abraxas, a demon he had known as a “stupid arsehole”, was apparently _ still _ doing this. And a _ good job _of it, at that.

“Better than Heaven itself, supposedly,” Aziraphale said softly.

“It’s a low bar, angel.”

“It shouldn’t be,” Aziraphale said quickly. “The real thing wasn’t always as sterile as the rest of Heaven… er... was it?”

“Dunno,” Crowley said. “Did you ever see it? Where the human souls go?”

“No,” Aziraphale said. He began to move. The two of them ended up sitting across from one another on the bed, cross-legged, close enough to touch foreheads-- they did, briefly. Aziraphale fidgeted. “It just… it all makes me wonder. Abraxas’ pseudo-Heaven actually cares for its souls. Yet, Abraxas is… they’re still a demon. And you-- sweet, loving-”

“Don’t you start,” Crowley said.

“-you’re still a demon. Last I checked.”

Crowley shut his eyes and let go, just a bit, let his scales and broken halo negatively shine through briefly, his demonic energies flow outward.

“Yep,” Crowley murmured. He opened his golden eyes again. “Still a demon.”

His own iridescent black wings, shining with tints of greens and blues while in motion, came out as well. But, they had pretty much always been that way. Angel wings could change as they Fell. The stars burned out from his.

Aziraphale brought his white and gold ones forward to brush against Crowley’s before he could attempt to put them away again. They formed a comfortable barrier of feathers and celestial eyes around one another.

“And I’m still an angel,” Aziraphale said, lowering his head. “Despite the… well. You know.”

“The wanton hedonism you’ve committed every day for thousands of years, at every opportunity?” Aziraphale’s head snapped back up at that. Crowley grinned, but it faded when Aziraphale lowered his head again.

“Not what I was referring to. But I suppose you’re right,” he said. “Yet, here I am.” He glowed, momentarily.

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hands, soothing them over with his thumbs. “Lucky you, eh?”

After a long moment, Aziraphale said, “Does the Almighty simply… not care anymore?”

The two of them had found God, hiding out in Site 13. They were told to “go home”, and that was that. No words of admonishment, nor approval. Just, “go home”. And They were gone.  
“Angel….”

“...Was there ever a plan at all?” He spread his hands. “What kind of plan involves… things like… like…”

“Like bone hives,” Crowley mumbled distantly.

“Wh-what? Nevermind! I don’t want to know.” Aziraphale suddenly put his hands to his mouth. His feathers rustled. “That human… said _ Gods _ . Plural. There were always the others— the _ false _ gods, but… were they, really? Crowley?”

“These are the kinds of questions,” Crowley said in a low voice, “that gets certain angels cast out on their arses. I should know. I… I don’t want you hurt.”

Crowley had always loved pushing Aziraphale’s buttons, but the angel’s faith in the Almighty had always held, in the end. Always, _ ineffability _ justified whatever strange whims they were all subjected to. His favorite word, _ ineffable _. Really, Crowley was sure God was less of a planner and more of a bored Sims player-- the sort who lures Their own creations into the pool and then removes the ladder. 

Then fucks off to go play Skee-Ball.

Crowley wasn’t hearing that _ ineffable plan _ justification right now, though. No one was really sure what the exact criteria was for getting kicked out of Heaven’s good graces, but Aziraphale was sounding awfully familiar right then.

Ever since that encounter with Gangrel, he couldn’t help but think that there was likely a much better way to go about this entire thing. It was Aziraphale’s well-being worrying him, more than anything else.

“I’m asking _ now _ . And look at me,” Aziraphale’s wings shuddered briefly as he let his aura brighten again— not enough to harm Crowley, just enough for demonstration. “ _ Still an angel. _”

“Yeah, yeah, I can see that,” Crowley said. “Stop jinxing it. Almost as if you _ want _ to Fall. You know-- you know what it’s like?” His voice cracked, just slightly. “Do you know what it’s like, having Their love torn away from you? Knowing that-- oh, God is _ all-loving _ , except you. Not you. _ Hates _you, personally,” he said, hands on his chest. "All-loving," he said in a mocking tone.

_ ...It’d be a fun achievement if it didn’t hurt so badly, even to this day. _

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, “I-- I’m sure it’s not _ hatred _ .” He looked away. “Then again, I suppose we really can’t know. I don’t know. I don’t _ know _. It’s...“

“Angel...”

“...getting just a tad old.” Aziraphale shook his head. “Well, if I were to Fall, it should have happened a long time ago. You said as much, yourself.”

“Yeah, but-” 

“It would at least show that”, he raised his head, and his voice, “God was at the very least still _ listening _to us!”

With a rueful smile, Crowley said, “Y’know, I really do think you’d make a terrific demon.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah. Terrific, as in _ causing terror. _”

“Ah. The original definition,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle. 

Crowley leaned in, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s. “I really didn’t mean to end up this way. But honestly, I would never go back, either.”

“I know.”

“Probably shouldn’t tell you that.” Crowley looked directly into Aziraphale. “But_ I like you the way you are _, so....”

“The feeling is mutual, love,” Aziraphale said, nuzzling against him. “Please don’t worry so much about my divine status. I’ll be alright. I think. Whatever happens. If you’re with me, I’ll be alright.”

“Maybe I _ want _to worry,” Crowley said. “Ever think about that? Huh? We got a dynamic to uphold, here.”

Aziraphale kissed Crowley’s cheek, and gently pushed him down onto his back. With a low voice, he said into Crowley’s ear, “Shh. Let me fill you with the love the Almighty ripped away from you, my love, my darling demon.”

Crowley completely lost his previous train of thought once he felt a gentle nibble at his neck. “Uhhhm... okay!"

_ Gods _ , _ eh _ , Crowley thought at some point a bit later on, _ That’s an interesting thought to unpack, there. _

Mobile Task Force Escort Mission, along with one of the building’s researchers, crowded around several monitors. They circled a security guard sitting at the desk, playing back footage from earlier in the day. The researcher, Dr. Brule, pointed at the monitor depicting Aziraphale and Crowley while they were on their orientation tour with Dr. Stump.

“These two,” he said, “they’re uh different. They’re-- they’re uh, not like human people. I can see their… they got wings and…that’s a tail? Too many eyes and _ scales _and ohhhh shit what is… ?“ he turned to look at the others, “they’re kinda odd,” he said.

“Do you think those are the entities that escaped from site 13, Dr. Brule?” one of the MTF said. “The _ angel _ and _ demon _?” They handed Brule an old security camera snapshot from Site 13.

“Oh… uhh, yeah, looks like them. You guys really can’t see the, uh… the... that? Oh. Ohhh. No, no no… you can’t see _ that _either?”

“They look like a couple of perfectly normal weirdos to us,” someone said. The others nodded.

“They also don’t look that much like the _ same _people,” another said.

“Oh,” Brule said, “no, that’s totally them.” 

“What’s the word? Glamoured? It’s uh— it’s like they cast a sort of spell that makes your brain not recognize their appearance? Something like that, right?”

“I dunno, sure. Can I go now?”

The SPF Foundation had, in its employment, a handful of individuals dedicated to things such as this. Few adult humans1 held a high enough Psychic Resistance Score to identify supernatural creatures actively masking their appearances, and fewer of these individuals were qualified to hold a job here. Dr. Brule was one of these lucky people. Lucky, because he really wasn’t any good at doing much else in life. “Dr.” was actually his first name, and spent most of his days “researching” funny animal videos on Youtube. His parents were very proud, and very vindicated, and took every opportunity to bring up their son’s work in casual conversation with little to no provocation. His parents had no idea.

[1. Children and animals are pretty good about seeing what’s really there. The Foundation had tried with parrots in the past, paying them in treats. Then, the parrots discovered _money_, which could be used to buy _ many _treats. And then, there was The Uprising….]

“No,” someone said. “Let’s pull up the notes Agent M documented. She’s the one who was observing the angel, correct?”

Dr. Brule frowned. “You know that-- that _ agent _ is a swarm of bees, right?”

“Not this shit again, Brule.”

“Uh, yeah, this shit again!” Brule said, “How uhh how are you gonna believe me about these two being uhhh _ m-monsters _but not-”

“Listen,” one said, “you’re not the only psychic, empath or whatever we’ve got, not even _ the best _ one we’ve got-”

“-Ouch?”

“-and none of them have ever agreed with you on this. Leave her alone. She’s a fine, hard-working young lady with a very… very, very unfortunate first name. You never did like her.”

“Yeah, quit trying to get rid of her, jerk. She’s nice. She likes hexagons better than cubes, but we’re working on that.”

“Cubes, cubes, cubes! Do you ever think about anything else?”

“I have Opinions on squares.”

“I-- I swear, I saw its file once. It’s out there, guys! Said something about turning interpretive dance into words in your brain and-” Someone put a hand on Dr. Brule’s shoulder.

“You really ought to check in with the on-site therapist. This line of work’ll really mess with your mind.”

“Uhhhh can I go do that right now then?”

“No.”

One said, “so, we know how to catch a demon, but what about the angel? We can’t even get within a mile of that one-- uh-- y’know, that other one we think is guarding the... not without getting turned away or turned to _ dust _.”

“_This _ angel is a lot friendlier,” one said, “well, relatively speaking, anyway. It responds to treats!”

“Please don’t use that word, _ treats _, around me. It brings back bad memories.”

“Oh, right, sorry. It responds to _ people food, _then.”

“Guys,” Dr. Brule gasped suddenly, flapping his hands in excitement, “Guys, guys, guys… hang on. I got a wise idea.”

Aziraphale and Crowley were curled up together in the bed, blanketed by each others’ wings. Though he felt that his time was better spent with his books than lying unconscious for several hours, he found that he didn’t mind sleeping if he could do so next to his demon, sharing a mutual dream-- something _ apparently _humans couldn’t do. Besides, fighting and recovering from his hellfire wounds took quite a lot out of him. 

They slept, taking flight among the stars together in their dreams.

That is, until a noise from outside their door awoke Aziraphale. Their door was locked, and additionally charmed to refuse entry even if it _ were _opened. Still, he was alert. Crowley stirred and muttered some complaint while clutching at his angel’s arm. Aziraphale gave him a brief kiss and said that he would go see what the sound was. Charmed though the door was against humans, considering what else was housed in this building, he could not be too sure about how secure they were. Crowley groggily sat up to watch.

After miracling himself presentable, Aziraphale approached the door and placed a finger against it at eye-level. A peephole appeared where he touched it. He looked through, seeing and sensing nothing unusual in the dim hall outside. Cautiously, he unlocked and pushed the door ajar, again scanning the surroundings through that thin opening.

“See anything?” Crowley said. Aziraphale shook his head. “Then get back here,” Crowley patted the empty spot beside him. “Need my favorite pillow.”

“Just a moment, my dearest,” Aziraphale said, opening the door just enough to slip through and take a step outside. He stood there, outside the door, scanning up and down the halls for any unusual shapes or sensations. All he felt were the human presences in the nearby rooms. With a suspicious frown, he turned to re-enter.

He was abruptly stopped by an invisible wall. Crowley suppressed a snicker as Aziraphale irritably rubbed his bumped nose. “Forget to turn it off, did you?” He waved their barrier away. Aziraphale tried again, but still could not pass the threshold of the door.

“Crowley,” he said, admonishing tone.

“What?” With a grunt, Crowley forced himself off the bed. He miracled on some clothing, then attempted to do away with the barrier again. Aziraphale pressed a hand against it, as if there was glass barring him there. “I’m trying, angel. Swear I am!”

“I know,” Aziraphale said, having attempted to wave it away himself and similarly failing. “I can’t seem to vanish it, either.” Crowley tentatively raised his hand to touch Aziraphale, meeting no resistance. He pushed past the door and joined him in the hall.

“Huh. Not blocking me,” he shrugged. 

“Jolly good for you, then.” Aziraphale paused. "Er. Perhaps you shouldn't have...."

Crowley took Aziraphale by the hand, hoping the contact would permit the angel through the door. Instead, both of them were now blocked.

“Uh. Perhaps I should have... not done that. Right.” Crowley tapped a finger against the barrier uselessly.

Aziraphale put his hands together. “Well, no big loss. We can simply take over a new room. And now that we’re up, why not see about a late dinner?”

“Closer to midnight snack time, I should think,” Crowley said, turning and resting his back against the barrier.

“Early breakfast?”

“Sure,” Crowley shrugged. “Gotten over the bucket thing?”

Aziraphale’s face fell. “I forgot about that.” He appeared to be deep in thought for a moment. “They never _ said _ the source of food was the machine. _ You _were the one who implied it.”

“And the human heavily implied that I was right.”

Aziraphale sighed heavily.

Unfortunately, the barrier seemed to extend _ beyond _ their doorway, forming a fairly tight circle just around the outside of it like a round welcome mat. But, the floor produced no glow. There was no sigil beneath their feet. However, there was _ something _ marking the border of the invisible barrier, upon closer inspection. It was difficult to see in the dark, against the the carpeted floor. Aziraphale kneeled down.

“It looks like salt,” Aziraphale said, voice low. “I think? At least some of it is.”

“Salt? Bloody salt, _ again _ ?” Crowley palmed his forehead. “Fuck’s sake. They figured us out. I knew they would- Wait. Wait. You _ are _an angel-”

They heard footsteps in the distance. Aziraphale stood defensively in front of Crowley, and took the demon’s hand in his. Escort Mission stepped down the hall, weapons drawn.

Over Aziraphale’s shoulder, Crowley said, “What _ is _ this? Catching _ me _with the salt circle, I get that. But him?” He gestured at Aziraphale with his free hand. “How?”

The lead MTF chuckled. “Yeah, I can’t believe that actually worked, either. It’s not just salt.”

“...Pepper.” Aziraphale said flatly. “This is a-- a salt and _pepper_ circle!”

“That’s not a thing,” Crowley said. “Trapping angels in pepper circles-- that’s not a _ thing _. How is that a thing?”

“Welcome to the Hotel California,” one of the MTF said. “Two men enter. None men leave.”

“Those aren’t the words.”

The MTF circled them now. Aziraphale and Crowley crowded together at the entrance to their door, unable to create much more distance. One MTF raised their weapon, aiming directly towards Crowley. It was a Nerf water gun, spray-painted black. Crowley clung tightly to Aziraphale and hoped no one else noticed his death-grip.

“I bet,” Crowley said, “that gun’s filled with holy water. Isn’t it? Is that really necessary?”

“You shan’t be getting a drop on him,” Aziraphale said, doing his best impression of a shield. He had tried to draw out his wings, but the circle would not allow it.

“All you have to do,” one MTF said, “is surrender quietly. We won’t hurt you. Just surrender.”

Crowley whispered into Aziraphale’s ear, “oh, but I don’t see the doctor who’s going to do our vivisections agreeing to anything. Y’think they’ll give us a discount for a couples session?”

“We are _ not _ getting _ vivisected _,” Aziraphale said, slightly louder than he intended.

“Not _ me _, if I get reduced to a nasty stain on the floor, I s’pose,” Crowley said.

An MTF cleared their throat, getting the two’s attention. “I repeat. Surrender quietly and we won’t hurt you.” One lowered their weapon and brought out a pair of golden manacles.

“Do you know what this is?” said the MTF, approaching with the gear. “Put these on for us, angel.”

Aziraphale glared. The MTF hesitated. 

“They can’t use their powers,” another said, assuringly. “Not while they’re in the circle.” The MTF holding the manacles nodded and stepped forward, much more confident now. Still glaring, Aziraphale held out his hands. The MTF stepped over the circle and placed the manacles around Aziraphale’s extended wrists. Before they could be snapped shut, Aziraphale snatched the MTF by the arms and shoved him roughly forward so that his shoes brushed and broke the mystical ring of seasonings. Immediately his wings shot out, and he glowed, blinding all within the immediate vicinity with a flash of light.

Once Escort Mission recovered, the angel and demon were already gone.

“Days since Aziraphale’s attacked a human… zero.”

Aziraphale sighed. “That was not an _ attack _ , that was self-defense. Well, more _ you _-defense. Are you really keeping track of this?”

The two of them were currently sat huddled on the floor of the kitchen side of the cafeteria, side-by-side against the back the dividing counter. It was empty, pitch dark and quiet, and for the moment, safe. There was a bucket of hard candy beside Crowley that had been there when they entered, and something compelled Crowley to swallow one.

“Could be.” Aziraphale only shook his head at that. “Angel. Aziraphale,” Crowley said, sing-song.

“Yes, dearest?” Aziraphale said, just a touch exasperated in tone.

“Love you.”

With a sigh and an affectionate roll of the eyes, Aziraphale said, “I love you too.” He took Crowley’s hands in his own. “You’re not hurt, are you, dearest? I did give you sufficient warning before… ?”

“Tingles a bit,” Crowley said, “but s’not too bad. I’ll be fine.” He gave Aziraphale a tight smile and leaned forward to kiss him. Without drawing away, he added, “Rescued again. Few hundred more times and we’ll be even. Ish.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but laugh. He pulled back slightly. “There is simply no way-”

“No, you’re right. Definitely lowballing the number there.”

"You know, I _have_ rescued you before."

"Ehh. Few times," Crowley admitted. He went back in for another kiss. After a bit, they lazily drew away from each other.

Crowley rested against Aziraphale’s shoulder. He offered Aziraphale some of the candy from the bucket.

“Are they any good?”

“Mmm… no. Not at all.”

“Then why are you still eating them?”

Crowley looked down at his hand. “I… don’t know?” He scattered the candy across the floor where they were sure to roll under the appliances and attract ants, then looked up at the ceiling. “Shouldn’t there be alarms or a lockdown or… something?”

“Oh, no worries about that,” Aziraphale said, “I made certain to shut all of that down.”

Crowley tilted his head towards him. “Shut all of what down?”

“All of… um…. “

The wall to their left rippled. From it emerged a giant spider, knife-like legs tapping musically across the floor. It murmured to itself constantly, stopping only when it found itself in front of the two. It flashed something like a quick, sharp-toothed smile-- or what may pass for a smile on a spider’s face, then phased into the far wall without visibly having walked its way over. Crowley and Aziraphale looked at each other.

“I see. Well done, angel.”

Aziraphale gulped. “I... may have fucked up.”


	4. well well well, if it isn't the consequences of my actions

In the darkness, Foundation staff scrambled to get things online again. Each backup generator was down, and the trained hamsters that operated the _ backup-backup _wheel generators were regularly freed by the Parrot Union. There were people meant to be coming up with solutions to dealing with the parrots and the hamster liberation, but… they didn’t. This whole thing was stupid and they were above that, but now who was looking stupid? 

They couldn’t even enter the room to operate the hamster wheels by hand. That was Parrot-Hamster Alliance territory now.

Somewhere in the building, the buzzing of electric cages had ceased its constant hum. Some of the creatures held within these took notice.

The lights of several high-powered bulbs had gone dim inside a secure room. Something moved in the blanket of dark.

MTF Escort Mission had to abandon capturing the angel and demon when an interdimensional spider appeared from a shimmer in air. It was murmuring to itself about whether or not human eyeballs could be turned into an instrument. It wanted to try.

Biff Vanderhuge huddled in a corner of the pitch black hall, waving the light of his smartphone at any sign of movement. But it did not stop the myriad of eyes hungrily staring at him from the shadows. His phone battery was running low, because of course it was. The eyes inched closer.

_ Clip clop clip clop _

Groggily, Doc awoke and cursed under her breath. She attempted to sit up, banging her head on the underside of the desk she had evidently been sleeping under-- not hers. Not... anyone’s. Not anywhere. It was not too dark to see beyond that desk. There was nothing to see.

“Let there be light,” Aziraphale said, illuminating the space above them. The ball of light followed them down the darkened halls like a tethered torch. They could easily miracle the power back on, but so long as there were bigger fish lurking about, the _ relatively _harmless angel and demon should be low priority-- in theory.

It seemed to be the right opportunity to go in search of any kind of security room, and hopefully find and burn or wipe out whatever files the organization had on the two of them.

“Really, shouldn’t we have done this sooner?” Aziraphale said, “I’ve seen things that can never be unseen.”

“Miracle them unseen?”

Aziraphale frowned. “I’m not certain that I should do that, either. As much as I would like to forget, I simply… I just, oh, I don’t know. Let’s just find that security room, shall we?”

**YOU’RE HEADING IN THE WRONG DIRECTION. **

Crowley and Aziraphale jolted in surprise. 

**SORRY.**

“Everyone is going to survive,” Aziraphale said, making shooing motions with his hands. “Go away, you!”

**A LOVELY THOUGHT. HOWEVER,** Death said . **THE FOUNDATION CONTAINS SOME ENTITIES MORE POWERFUL THAN, NOT ONLY YOU, BUT ALL THE FORCES OF HEAVEN AND HELL.** Death looked directly at Crowley.

**I CAN SEE FROM YOUR EXPRESSION THAT YOU DID NOT REALIZE THIS WHEN YOU LEFT YOUR GIFT TO THE STAFF OF SITE 13.**

“I-- uh-- what?” Crowley said, serpentine eyes wide behind his sunglasses.

**SITE 13 DID NOT HOUSE ANYTHING QUITE SO DANGEROUS, ** Death said, much to their relief.** THIS PLACE, HOWEVER….** Death turned away. **GOOD LUCK. **And he was gone.

“Good luck… right, thanks.” Crowley muttered.

“Perhaps I should turn the power back on?” Aziraphale said.

“Er… well, doubt that’ll put Nyarlathotep or _ whatever _back in its box,” Crowley said.

“That’s not real!”

“You know what I mean! Let’s just try and be quick about this. Still have your map? Apparently, I do not.”

Aziraphale patted his pockets, finding nothing. “I must’ve put it down somewhere. Crowley?”

“Mmm?”

“What could possibly be… _ more powerful than Heaven and Hell _… ? I mean, really?”

“Why worry if _ it’s not real _, eh?” Crowley laughed nervously. Aziraphale didn’t find it funny at all.

They started down the hall, opening and checking doors they came across, ignoring the heavily vaulted ones that were unmistakably the high-security containment chambers. All the other doors appeared to be the same, plain-looking things, with the only labeling on the majority being room numbers. They found personal offices where overnight staff hid under desks, found closets and storage rooms, and containment chambers of more innocuous items, but so far no sign of any surveillance center. It was almost as if sections of the building were generated at random, the way this place seemed to be laid out. Strange.

Aziraphale opened one door and shut it immediately after, pressing himself firmly against it. The horde of colorful feathered creatures within squawked furiously and flung their angry little birdy bodies against the surface. Once the fluttering and scratching quieted, Aziraphale exhaled a breath he was not aware he had been holding. From the quick glimpse he managed, that was a large, lavish break room, though, not a containment chamber. It was only after he moved away from it that he noticed “POLLY WANTS TO NEGOTIATE”, “We don’t negotiate with PET SHOP REJECTS”, “YOU WILL” gouged deeply into the wood of the door. Whatever all that meant.

“Angel,” Crowley said from a little ways down the hall, “are you alright? What the Heaven was _ that _?”

“...most definitely not the security room.”

Crowley made an affirmative noise, then beckoned Aziraphale over. He pulled a door wide open. “Look. They’re actually hiding a Burger Lord in here. Still hungry?”

Aziraphale stopped. “_ No. _”

“...yeesh, alright, yeah. You’re right.” Crowley shut the door. They continued on, until the noise of rapidly clacking footsteps gave them pause.

_ Something _dashed across the hallway junction just ahead of them. They listened, waiting for the noise of claws against tile to fade away. Instead, the noise abruptly stopped. Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and squeezed. The creature poked its head out, then stepped into the junction.

It cocked its head, curious and birdlike in shape and motion. They all stared in wonder at each other. One of the creature’s yellow and black feathers fluttered off as it ran away again, quickly as it had emerged. Aziraphale pointed, mouth open.

“That… that wasn’t real,” Aziraphale said as Crowley approached the junction to kneel and pick the feather up. “They told us all of prehistory was a _ joke _!”

Crowley shook his head and said, uneasily, “Y-yeah. Joke. Funny, they told us all sorts of things, didn’t they?” He tucked the feather into a pocket and looked at Aziraphale. “The joke was on _ us _.”

“Well that’s-- that’s!” Aziraphale waved his hands in frustration, then let them fall to his sides. “...not very nice,” he said, lamely.

Crowley shook his head. “What could they have done to deserve utter destruction? Was there a sinful dinosaur society no one knew about? Annihilated, then spoke of as if they were made up for a laugh-- oh, yes, hilarious.”

“Only mostly annihilated,” Aziraphale said, spirits low. “That one seemed rather lively.”

“Aziraphale? Do you think, if-- if humans-- gosh, if the apocalypse actually did succeed, would humans become a... another _joke_?”

A closet door near them slowly creaked open, and a damp human with an orange bucket over their head peered out between the crack, then carefully stepped out.

“She’s gone?” Stump said, lifting the bucket off their head. “The deinonychus? She’s gone? She hasn’t been fed yet, today.” Stump shuddered. “That dinosaur... knows the taste of human coffee.” This was said with all the fear of one who was sure their body consisted of _ at least _sixty percent coffee.

“...As opposed to what? Dinosaur coffee?”

“That... _ was _a real dinosaur?” Aziraphale said, biting his lip. “How?”

Stump fidgeted. “Some rich bellend with too much money bought up every piece of amber they could possibly find-- every piece of amber with a mosquito trapped in, spared no expense and all that-”

“_Jurassic Park_’d it, did they?”

“_Jurassic Park_’d it. Instead of, y’know, working on curing diseases or donating to charity. Nah. Mr. _ I-don’t-wan’t-to-cure-cancer-I-want-to-make-dinosaurs _built a giant lab, and… the fictional method from the fictional story didn’t work. Surprise, surprise! DNA actually has a shelf life.”

“You’d think that’s the sort of thing you’d look into before investing in a giant lab and everything.”

“Like I said: he was an idiot.”

“So,” Aziraphale said cautiously, “is it real or not, then?”

“Oh, he eventually, somehow, got a hold of some complete-enough fossilized skeletons and buried them in a cursed _ pet sematary _ . _ That _ did the trick. Yeah, that was real.”1

“I… see.”

“Yeah,” Stump said, nervously looking around. They put the bucket back over their head. “Worst day of my life. Just dealt with this crap over at 13. Screw it. Gonna go finish getting my license to kill so I can live the life I always really deserved. I've had a _provisional license _for about ten years now so it's about time, I should think.”

Aziraphale said, “before you go, could you possibly point us in the direction of the security room?”

Stump looked upon them suspiciously, but gave them some quick directions anyway. “I’m no longer invested in this, so go do whatever,” Stump had said, then dashed off the moment they were finished talking. Aziraphale turned to face Crowley.

“Wait. Before, did they say license to… did you catch that?”

“Wasn’t entirely paying attention. Thinking about the hypothetical dinosaur version of Sodom and Gomorrah,” Crowley said. “Sorry.”

[1. This may or may not have been a giant ploy to make the author’s favorite group of animals “canon”]

As they started towards the direction indicated by Stump, Crowley said, “They say birds are basically dinosaurs.”

“_ Who _ says?”

“Y’know. _ They _ ,” Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know _ their names _ , angel. Just… _ they _. Explains a few things about geese.”

“Birds must know it then, deep down,” Aziraphale said, recalling a specific, highly unreasonable goose that made it its life’s mission to sneak up on Crowley and greet him with a surprise bite any time they were in the park. Sometimes immediately, sometimes just as they were leaving. The dastardly thing kept them constantly guessing. Neither he nor Crowley knew what it was exactly Crowley had done to that goose, but— Crowley was... Crowley. It was probably his fault.

But maybe geese are just Like That. Maybe it was a bit of both. Who really knows.

There was a sudden, shrill scream in the direction from which Stump had gone. Indeed— it was the human, and they came back into view running and crying out. A fat, dark tendril covered in eyes— opening and gnashing as if they were also teeth— followed and flew past Stump. One of the eyes opened up and extended and snatched the panicking human up in a single swallow. The tentacle continued flying down the hallway without pause and without visible sign of whatever it might have been attached to, if it was attached to anything at all. Aziraphale and Crowley held each other flat against the wall, leaving the gigantic tendril room to zoom past them. Its massive size took up much of the hallway’s space. Aziraphale’s clutched Crowley closely. His golden wings came out, forming a barrier that deflected any testing bites, sending his feathers fluttering messily with splatters of blood to the floor. 

He lowered his battered wings as soon as the thing sounded as if it had passed, whatever it was. 

Aziraphale slowly put his poor wings away, wincing at every movement and sighing with relief once they were hidden. Still, Aziraphale asked if Crowley was alright.

“Y-yeah,” Crowley said, eyes wide with fear and worry behind his sunglasses. “I’ll heal you, just-”

There was a noise. Aziraphale grabbed Crowley's hand and hurried him in the opposite direction. So long as his wings were put away, they would not pain him so much. It could wait a bit. Crowley ended up pulling ahead, never letting go of Aziraphale's hand.

“I do hope the human's alright,” Aziraphale said, almost an afterthought.

“Yeah, sure, human’s fine,” Crowley quickly said. “Totally fine. We said they’d be fine, so they’re fine, right? Everything’s _ super fucking fine _.”

“Not really!”

They skidded to a stop when they noticed that a large patch of the ceiling, walls and floor were a different color, distinct enough even in the dark, slowly rippling as if made of a highly viscous liquid. Fish— or something like fish-- were leaping from the surface, disregarding gravity and falling back into the side from which they jumped. The patch was inching forward, leaving a trail of corrosive substance in its wake.

They turned back without a word.

A figure in shadow trapped within a tall mirror stood in the center of the next hallway. It opened its eyes. They took the next right.

A shimmering man, flickering in and out of existence appeared before them. He muttered with a metallic, echoing voice, then opened his trenchcoat wide to reveal—

“Y’all need a potato?”

Aziraphale dragged Crowley into a run in the opposite direction.

Aziraphale yelled back, “No, thank you!”

Crowley blessed between gasps for breath, gripping Aziraphale’s hand tightly as they ran. Neither one of them had the stamina to keep this up for too long, but fortunately, finally, they came upon a door with the words “SECURITY" clearly labeled.

It was ajar, and the of crashing and breaking of glass and equipment sounded from within.

Crowley behind him, Aziraphale cautiously pushed the door open and peered in. Among the mess of monitors and overturned furniture was a raging unicorn, stamping its cloven hooves and waving a lion-like tail in agitation. Its gaze snapped in the angel and demon’s direction.

A masked human lay slumped against the wall, bleeding from a wound in their chest. It seemed to correspond to the smear of red on the creature’s long, spiral horn.

“Oh no,” Aziraphale gasped. Crowley cautiously stepped out from behind him, palms out. He waved one, manifesting a simple red apple and presenting it, shakily.

“Unicorn,” he said, nearly choking on the word. “Oi, unicorn… hungry?” He wondered if it was that same lonely unicorn from the ark the two of them had sneaked onto, all those many, many centuries ago.

The unicorn snorted and stamped, then lowered its head and charged forward. Crowley moved just in time to have the apple speared, rather than himself. The unicorn charged right on out the door. It stopped itself with some effort and attempted to double back, but did not make it before Aziraphale could slam the door shut and lock it out.

The horn popped out just to the side of Aziraphale’s ear with a splintering _ crunch _, leaving large cracks in the door where it penetrated. Aziraphale jumped back. Crowley grabbed his shoulders from behind. The horn wiggled about, hooves stamped and scrambled from outside the door. A moment later, the horn came loose. The unicorn audibly snorted and sulked away.

“I don’t recall them being that vicious before,” Aziraphale whispered, then noticed that Crowley’s hands were no longer on him, but on the injured, seemingly unconscious human behind him. “Oh!”

“You’re fine,” Crowley mumbled as he healed the wound. “Totally fine. There? See? Get up, human. Get up!” Crowley looked up at Aziraphale. His sunglasses slipped slightly, revealing frightful eyes. “A-angel, the human’s not-”

Aziraphale kneeled down with Crowley. “Unicorns were special creatures-- a bit like us, always had a bit of magic about them. I’ll help.” He began healing the wound and encouraged Crowley to contribute.

As they did so, Crowley said, “But They still let the rest of the unicorns die out.” _ All _ the angels were _ special _once, too. Until they weren't.

Before Aziraphale could form a response, the human groaned and began to move. They sat up straight and touched their now healed puncture wound. Even the blood was gone. 

Up close, the mask was clearly shaped like some kind of dog’s head, most likely of the small, yappy variety with ears far too big. It appeared to be made of metal and enclosed the entire head.

Everyone was on their feet in a moment.

The human looked at each of them with a questioning stare before finally speaking, voice tinny through the helmet.

“So you’re the_ angel _ and _ demon _ I’ve been hearing everyone moan about. Now, don’t look at me like that. We all know what you are. And if you think you can just waltz on into the security room and erase all the records, well, it’s all online, and I know from experience: online is forever. All those unflattering photos do _ not _go away. Ever. Now, if you’re looking to get some professional shots done for your files, then-”

“Quiet, human. Dog? Whatever.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley. “Well? Now what?”

“You’re clever. What's your clever idea?”

“This was _your _clever idea in the first place, Crowley.”

The human raised their hands. “Listen. I have a clever proposal for you two. Allow me to introduce myself: I’m no dog. I’m Metal Wolf.”

“_ Metal Wolf _?”

“I’m in charge around here, and you two just saved my bacon.” Metal Wolf reached into a shirt pocket and pulled out a strip of soggy bacon, waving it about like a floppy meat flag. “That unicorn nearly ate my breakfast! Scientific fact: unicorns love breakfast. Oh. Right. Also, my life. You saved that. Good job!” Metal Wolf raised a hand, expecting a high-five. They were left hanging.

Crowley bared his fangs. “And we could just as easily take it away again.” Metal Wolf clutched their bacon close. “Your _ life _,” Crowley clarified, spreading his hands.

“But you won’t,” Metal Wolf said, suddenly confident. Crowley hissed and rapidly filled the room as a massive, feathered serpent, coiling tightly around the human (and loosely forming a loop around a surprised Aziraphale). Teeth gnashed all along his body as he continued to hiss out, in Metal Wolf’s face, “We _could_, human. Order your people to leave us be, and perhaps we shall show mercy. Or would you rather we kill you here and now?”

“_ We _ ?” Aziraphale said, as if he had _not_ once seriously attempted to launch a brick at a child’s head.

“But you _ could _,” Crowley said in a low voice. “You could ssssmite this human right now.”

“Technically, yes,” Aziraphale said, exasperated. He leaned over one of Crowley's coils and casually played with the short feathers covering them. “But-”

“You won’t,” Metal Wolf said, then repeated, “I have a proposal, _ gentlemen _. Please unha- unsnake me?” Crowley said something unintelligible and gave up, returning to human shape. Aziraphale joined his side.

Crowley sighed, annoyed that his bluff had done nothing. “Okay. _ What _?”

Metal Wolf rubbed their hands together. “Gentlemen, we have a select few _ special agents _ under employment here. These are the sorts of special agents that we _ should _ have in _ containment _ , if you catch my drift. Only the O5 council-- bigwigs, important folks, y'know-- and few others are in the know. The key thing here is that one: these special agents have valuable skills, and two: they _ like _humans. At least, they like humans just enough. You two seem to fit the bill.”

“Get over yourself,” Crowley said, “I'm a demon. I don't _like_ humans. You're just fortunate to be gifted with the knowledge and ability to create-- create fun stuff. That’s all," he said, like a liar. "Well, not you, specifically. Dunno 'bout you. Seems to me, _ you’re _a bit of a prat.”

Metal Wolf ignored that. “So, you work for us under cover, and we’ll stop trying to capture you. How’s that sound? Oh, also, could you get this straw that’s been stuck under here? It’s been driving me nuts for weeks and none of the so-called geniuses around here know how to get it out.” They pointed to the tight gap between mask and neck.

“Just,” Crowley said, “take the stupid helmet off then?”

“Not a helmet. This is part of my head. Long story short: sometimes, science happens.”

“I’m… sure it does,” Aziraphale said uneasily.

“So, what do you say?” 

“I say _ no _,” Aziraphale said immediately.

Metal Wolf held out their hand as if expecting to shake. “What do you say?” 

Crowley snarled. “Repeating yourself isn’t going to change the answer, human.”

“I’ll be your best friend,” Metal Wolf said.

“_ He’s _my best friend,” Crowley and Aziraphale both said, indicating one another.

“I’ll be your bester friend.”

“_ No _.”

Metal Wolf leaned over and hovered a hand over a wall-mounted phone. “You sure about that?”

“Fairly certain, yes.”

Metal Wolf picked up the phone and hit the intercom button. “Escort Mission! Get in here.” And they waited. And waited. “...Trust me, they’ll be here, full of piss and vinegar!” Metal Wolf cupped a hand to their mask's muzzle and whispered, “we filled the control group with anomalous space gel. It was an accident, but we’re rolling with it. While we wait,” Metal Wolf said, hanging up the phone without apparently realizing that the intercom was not operational, “I meant that. Not just me-- the entire SPF Foundation could absolutely be your _ bester _friend.”

“Please stop saying that word.”

“You,” they gestured at Crowley, “claimed to be working on behalf of the humans in your initial interview. _ We _work on behalf of humans. Why else would you come here, anyway? You want to contribute to the science of protecting humanity!”

“We want,” Crowley said, “to be _ left alone _.”

“Then let’s make a deal!” Metal Wolf said. “Work for us, just for a little while. You help us, we’ll help you. We don’t just _ contain _ weirdos here. We _ protect _them. Trust me, sometimes destroying the weird spooky thing does way more harm than good. We got a paperweight on someone’s desk around here that’ll probably release _The Thing_ spores if it ever breaks open. Haha. No idea which one it is. Not the best example I could have picked just now.”

“You… want to protect _ us _ ?” Crowley sneered. “Actually, it’s not a _ deal _ when the one you’re guaranteeing protection from is yourselves. That’s-- that’s, er, what’s the word? Prickish.” 

“Crowley, love,” Aziraphale whispered so that only he would hear. He gently touched Crowley's arm and leaned in close. Not that he needed to, to make the human not hear, but he wanted to. “What if Heaven and Hell do come for us? Death did say before: they have contained forces _ more powerful- _"

Crowley huffed. “We didn’t trick our way out of our old jobs just to get stuck with a whole new one. We’re not trying to make a habit out of averting apocalypses or whatever they’ll have us doing, remember?”

“At least we’ll be together this time, no lies, no sneaking about,” Aziraphale said. “But yes. I’m not fond of the idea of working for these humans, either.” As he said this, he recalled what Abraxas had told him about the fate of those who willingly dedicate themselves to the Foundation. Plus, Metal Wolf here was, indeed, kind of a prat. “But, at the same time, human lifespans are quite short. And humans are quite forgetful. And this entire situation is quite certainly all _ your fault _.”

"Not _ all _ my fault. Hardly _ my _ fault these Foundation humans er… exist. Probably." As Crowley said this, though, Aziraphale could see his mind beginning to work out some Certified Good Ideas. "This is your clever plan, angel? Ripping off my schtick?"

"For now." Aziraphale rolled his eyes affectionately. The two of them looked over and spotted Metal Wolf leaning in close with a hand cupped to an ear-- although it was one of their fake dog ears that didn't appear to be functional in any way.

“All I ask for is a measly,” Metal Wolf paused to think, “Fifty years of your service.”

“Fifty years!” Crowley said. “We may be immortals but fifty years is fifty years.”

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “Five years.”

“Forty-five years?”

“Two years.”

“Forty years and early access to the annual nacho memorial party?”

“One year,” Aziraphale said, then after a moment added, “and I’ll take care of your pesky straw.”

“Hmmm,” Metal Wolf said, scratching at their neck. “Alright, alright, how about this: five years, you take care of my straw, and I’ll call off Escort Mission and anyone else we got on your case.”

Aziraphale looked to Crowley for approval, or annoyed acceptance anyway, before reaching out to shake Metal Wolf’s outstretched hand. Crowley grabbed Aziraphale’s wrist before he could complete the motion.

“Wait. One more thing.” He looked directly at Metal Wolf. “Tell me the Q word.”

A month or so passed after that exchange. Aziraphale and Crowley had been told that the Foundation would be in contact once some paperwork and internal meetings had been arranged. Also, damage control. It gave them some reprieve, especially since Crowley refused to leave before visiting Chef. The incident ensured at least another week’s worth of repairs. Turns out, the “Q word” wasn’t a food, and Chef really, _ really _ does not like any mention of queu _ ing _. How they had managed to successfully enforce the “no Q word” rule until now was a mystery.

Wasn’t his fault that some wandering humans happened to overhear him mention the word, just out of earshot of the machine. Not at all.

And as far as the regular Foundation staff was concerned, the demon and angel operation was a success. They were “in containment” and available only to those with the highest security clearance. Research on the strange apocalyptic happenings had been deemed lower-priority, seeing how no other suspicious activity had been recorded since the original incident. (None that seemed related to that specific apocalisn't, at least) Those in the know were sure they could gain more information on that one from their new agents soon enough, anyway.

Said agents were not, in fact, currently “in containment” at any Foundation site. They were in Aziraphale’s shop, snuggled up together on the couch in the back. Aziraphale had a book in one hand, and an arm around a napping Crowley.

Though there was no visible change to the outside of the bookshop, there now was an upstairs that led directly into Crowley’s old flat. He had taken Aziraphale’s suggestion that they live together to heart. Finding a new home together, someplace new, had been discussed on and off. The traveling they did after the first run-in with the Foundation had given the two of them ideas. But for now, magically sticking his flat right on top of the shop just seemed easier.

Many of Crowley’s things seemed to be migrating slowly into the bookshop, like the telly or the paintings covering the few blank wall spaces. Aziraphale never saw Crowley moving anything, making room nor miracling anything down there, yet he found more and more houseplants in the windows or familiar old souvenirs scattered amongst his things every day. He didn’t mind at all. Even the statue of the two celestial beings “fighting” was welcome here, though Aziraphale didn’t comment on it, nor did he ask how he even found a place to put it.

Heaven and Hell still had not contacted either of them. Not that they wanted that, but the _ not knowing _was low-key nerve wracking, and they weren’t about to contact their respective offices themselves. It only got worse as time went on.

Aziraphale briefly squeezed Crowley, which he responded to with a happy hum. Thousands of years of loving each other, _ knowing _ they loved each other, and being unable to act at the risk of being _ murdered _… a demon could get away with seducing an angel, perhaps be praised for it, but being in love with one was another thing entirely. That angel had no such leeway. 

He really did hope that maybe the Foundation could provide assistance, any kind of assistance, should their offices decide to deal with them. _ Please. _

Crowley, awake now, looked up at the book Aziraphale was reading, and the stack of similar books nearby. 

“Is that a book on mass extinctions?”

“O-oh, yes,” Aziraphale said. “I always enjoyed flipping through these kinds of texts. Just for fun, you see. Although, knowing what I do now, from this new perspective, things are a bit more… er, not as fun.” 

“Yeah,” Crowley said. “I get that.” He sat up a bit. “Part of me doesn’t hate the deal we made. You know me. Always curious, and they’ll be _ handing _secure information and things over to us now. Going on undetected, even just a bit longer, would have been ideal, ‘course.”

“Seems to me, _ a bit longer _ would be something akin to a _ few minutes _ longer. They really are quite good.”

“And simultaneously _ incredibly _ incompetent, somehow,” Crowley said. “How does someone like that get to be in charge, anyway? If _ they _could do it, then I suspect just about anyone could.”

There was a banging at the door, startling the both of them.

“We’re closed!” Aziraphale called out. To Crowley, he said, “I do wonder about those who come to browse my books, yet are somehow incapable of reading signage.”

“_ Humans _,” Crowley said with a chuckle. He made a noise and sat up a bit. “Shit. Wait. You don’t think that’s actually- ?”

“Shall we check?” Aziraphale said hesitantly, slowly placing a bookmark. 

“...eventually,” Crowley said.

“...yes,” Aziraphale said. “Eventually.”

“How about we do dinner?” Crowley said, “sneak out the back door and have the Bentley drive itself ‘round to us.”

“What back doo--” _ thwump _ “Ah.”

Aziraphale followed Crowley out the newly created door. He locked up, and the Bentley came rolling up from around the corner into the alley. 

Once in the car, Aziraphale said, distantly, “it’s going to be an interesting few years.”

“Or less,” Crowley said, giving Aziraphale a cheeky smile. He started the engine, but an odd noise from the backseat gave him pause.

“What was that?” Aziraphale said. The two of them turned and locked eyes with the unicorn they had just accidentally awakened. There was an intense stare-down, until it finally yawned, lowered its head and went back to sleep. Aziraphale and Crowley looked at each other. 

“So….” Crowley said, “anyway.”

“Anyway…?”

“Dinner.”

“Dinner....”

As they drove off-- Crowley taking slightly more care than he usually bothered to-- he muttered, “swear to someone, I’d better not see any hoof prints on my nice-” The unicorn snorted loudly and Crowley shut his mouth.

Aziraphale leaned over. “As much as I enjoy you driving semi-sanely for once, are we really going to ignore- ?”

“We’ll deal with it,” Crowley said, “_ eventually _ . For now, the Foundation isn’t a thing, murderous unicorns don’t exist, and they certainly don’t exist in the backseat of my _ pristine _ car. We are unemployed and _ unemployable _.”

“I own a business, love.”

“For now, we’re both free,” Crowley said, leaning back in his seat. One hand wandered over and took Aziraphale’s. He thought of scolding Crowley for taking his hand off the wheel, but laced their fingers together and held on tightly instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what kind of complete dingus writes sci-fi/horror-ish themed good omens fic? this guyyyyy
> 
> anyway, that was a thing

**Author's Note:**

> i mostly draw! have some personal links
> 
> https://disgustiphage.tumblr.com/  
https://twitter.com/disgustiphage  
/\\-for your shitpost/cringe/doodle viewing pleasure
> 
> \/-for art i might have actually put a little effort into  
https://www.deviantart.com/disgustiphage  
https://www.pixiv.net/member.php?id=10322525


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